Stand in the East
by Ender1030
Summary: America and her Allies are caught up in a three way war.  Will they be able to stop the endless tide of combined Chinese and North Korean soldiers? And what are the Russians planning in the North?  The final exciting parrallel of the Endwar is here!
1. Prologue

"…If the Democratic People's Republic Of Korea does not respect the reparation terms for the deaths of 2 soldiers and 15 civilians on the Island of Dongu, the families and people of the Republic of Korea will sever all forms of economic and agricultural aid at the present and for the forseeable future toward the people of the Democratic People's Republic of Korea. Furthermore, if the Democratic Republic of Korea attempts to kowtow our public and military policies and continue to threaten the people of the Republic of Korea with conventional and nuclear arms, the Republic of Korea will take the stricter measures to defend herself and her people…" – Statement by South Korean President Jung-Su Park, 2020

"The Democratic People's Republic of Korea are being bullied by their southern counterpart and the People's Republic of China, whom have stood by the Korean people in the past, will join in revolutionary arms with the Democratic People's Republic should the Republic of Korea partake in actions deeming by the People of China to be a threat to the Revolution." – Chinese Premier Xi Pi Zhu in a statement before the UN shortly following the Republic of Korea's statement demanding reparations for the death and torture of 5 soldiers by the hands of the Democratic People's Republic of Korea in 2025.

"…Today President Becerra has completed the signing of the Pacific Armed Nation's Treaty Organization, PANTO, putting into effect the largest covering Mutual Defense Pact in the history of man. PANTO members, Australia, United States, Japan, South Korea, New Zealand, Canada and Mexico, with the signing of this document, are now fully pledged to operate in conjunction with all its members as fully as if they were defending their own soil. This is the largest Mutual Defense Pact in the world since the dissolution of NATO…" FOX HEADLINE NEWS, 7:00 PM EST.

FROM THE DESK OF DIRECTOR (ANALYST) OF THE CENTRAL INTELLIGENCE AGENCY.

THE FOLLOWING MESSAGE IS CLASSIFIED TOP SECRET, NEED TO KNOW (LEVEL ORANGE). EYES ARE ONLY PERMITTED IN THE READING OF THIS DOCUMENT. ANY DISCUSSION OF THE FOLLOWING TOPIC OR SOURCES WITH UNDISCLOSED PERSONS IS PROHIBITED BY FEDERAL LAW J1178-44892. THE DISCLUSURE OF THE FOLLOWING INFORMATION IS CONSIDERED TREASON BY THE CENTRAL INTELLIGENCE AGENCY AND PUNISHABLE BY IMMEDIATE AND EXECUTION WITHOUT TRIAL.

SOURCE: 3RD ECHELON NATIONAL SECURITY AGENCY # 92692, CODE NAME WHITEWASH.

OFFICIAL DOCUMENT LABEL: TROIKA

Border defenses along the Korean peninsula have increased exponentially during the past few months. GRU units are now in Regimental strength, and are unmatched by the Democratic People's Republic of Korea, who presumably keep their army busy at the 38th parallel (photos to follow). If I were to make an assumption, I would guess that the North Koreans do not think the Russians are serious about their previous threats against them and China. If I were to make another assumption, the Russians look deadly serious about it. The Democratic People's Republic has stepped up their border control methods, placing another minefield at the Russian border. This is not specifically dedicated to stalling an armored advance, rather to keep potential immigrants from leaving the People's Republic. To say the least in this report, is to say that the North Koreans' are still as cruel as ever.

DIRECTORS NOTE: May 4th, 2032, WHITE WASH observed a number of armored units crossing into Vladivostock, bearing emblems of the 42nd Spetsnaz Guard Brigade and 2nd, 3rd, and 5th shock armies. (see figures 1-12). Quote "a massive and sudden mobilization of armies typically classified as A level." All along the Mongolia and Russia borders, China has stepped up their military readiness across a 5000 mile front. In terms of war material, China still maintains the largest army on earth. Discipline among these troops is tight and typical tactics are sound in their execution. What they have in manpower however, they lack in modern warfighting capability. Their tanks are still generation 3 and their fighter aircraft remain resolutely at generation 4 with a small number of generation 5 aircraft numbering a full air regiment of Jiang-13S stealth fighters. If the Russians and Chinese begin fighting a war, it will be a contest of numbers and technology pitting the world's first and second largest armies against each other. The Russian's most decisive advantage in this war will be the experience of their troops, many of whom have fought in conflicts during the formation of the Federation, and the modern warfighting technology.

Although Russia has not said in so many words that they will fight everyone, they faced down the United States and the European Federation during the formation of the missile shield and the destruction of FREEDOM STAR, and by troop deployments in both their Eastern border and now the western, we feel that they have the logistics and confidence to actually fight a war on all of their borders. In short, this is something we should be worried about.

It is my personal opinion from the informational buildup over the past months and sequence of events on the world stage that the United States must be prepared for a two front war against several possible enemies. In particular, our dedication to the PANTO countries must be respected and therefore troop build up in the Republic of Korea must begin immediately, before we lose our hold on Asia and lose counter offensive capability in that theater.

-Jonathan Sullivan Mahan, Director of Central Intelligence (analyst).


	2. Chapter 1

1700 – off Oahu

It was a glorious red setting sun in the west that tinted the once blue and clean Hawaiian sky into the fiery orange of evening and the coming night. Below in contrast, the ocean was a jet black that was so foreboding First Lieutenant Miles Pierrera half expected it to reach out and swallow him, F-19 Bobcat and all. He looked to the west, squinting his eyes even though they were behind mirrored lenses and sighed into his flight mask.

"What's up lead?" Pierrera's wingmate, Lieutenant Cameron Monroe said over the pilot to pilot radio channel. Cameron "Hulk" Monroe had his own F-19 Bobcat, the latest and greatest in Naval Aviation technology combining the stealth characteristics of the F-22 raptor and the impressive interceptor role of the old F-14 tomcat, was slotted in behind Pierrera's fighter at his 4 o'clock position.

"Nothing." Pierrera said and tugged the stick to follow the next NAV point on his plane integrated GPS. Combat Air Patrol with the US 7th fleet was usually so boring, but that wasn't the reason why he said "nothing." He was a little nervous, Pierrera was straight out of college and had recently finished Officer Training School as a part of his NROTC which had helped pay for it. He had plenty of stick time but tomorrow was a big day for him; it would be his first participation in a large scale Naval exercise.

It was as close as Pierrera would probably get to a shooting war even though the Navy was gearing up to go fight a war against the European Federation. That was the Atlantic Fleet, not the Pacific seventh which was Pierrera's Task Force. Tomorrow though, the combined Navies of the United States, Canada, Mexico, Japan, South Korea and Australia would be chugging out to participate in possibly the largest Naval war game in the history of man. Or so he'd been told. Fellow sailors and combat aviators from all over the world would be joining up under one ocean to shoot it out practice style.

It was a lot for Pierrera to take in, he'd be proving if his skills were worthy or not to the _world_.

"Next turn's coming up Diamondback." Cameron said to fill in the silence as Pierrera mused into tomorrow's fantasy. The use of Pierrera's call sign "Diamondback" got his attention. There was only this last sweep and they'd head back to base and a night of drinking before tomorrow's revelries although Pierrera didn't feel like drinking; he felt like he might skip the drinks and just head straight to the toilet to throw up.

"Yeah, coming right." Pierrera said and tugged gently on the stick to swing his nimble Bobcat interceptor to the east and away from the sun dipping into the black and pastel horizon to the west.

* * *

><p>0400 – South Korean Demilitarized Zone<p>

"_Till I collapse I'm spilling these raps long as you feel' em/ Till the day that I drop you'll never say that I'm not killing them -"_

"Hey, will you shut that thing off?" Second Lieutenant Michael Swedo snapped to the rest of his squad in the darkness. It was only his second day in country, straight from Ranger camp and all the sights sounds and smells of the 38th Parallel were bewildering, even at night. He'd barely stepped his boot onto the tarmac when the quartermaster had shipped him off to the DMZ to head up as a new CO for 3rd platoon, Bravo company of the 75th Ranger detachment. And he'd barely even met his first squad before being sent out on the nightly foot patrol which they marched for two hours.

Swedo had packed everything he had needed to bring, the new Future Force Heads Up Display lenses allowed him unparalleled vision in the dark, the powered exoskeleton he'd trained with gave him superhuman endurance and the ability to carry twenty five pounds of extra gear on him (which he'd discovered was actually quite a bit) so that on this patrol Swedo decided he was one badass warfighter; a SCAR-H automatic in both hands, canteen, E-Tool (he never understood why they didn't just call it a shovel), GPS system, laser target designator, Heads Up Display which integrated with helmet cams and Blue Force trackers, sidearm M93 automatic, flak vest, bayonet and thirteen magazines of 7.62mm Full Metal Jacket armor piercing rounds served as his carry ons. This was the way, he'd thought as he kitted out, that one went to war.

His squad thought this was hilarious. For one thing, their own gear was reduced to their rifles, HUD, flak vests, and only three magazines of ammunition, easily making them 50 pounds lighter than their new lieutenant. Most of them in fact neglected to bring their powered joints simply because they didn't need them. Swedo didn't know what to make of it. And then there was that dumbass up front that had apparently brought MP3 speakers so that they could listen to music on a _combat_ patrol?

"Chill out sir." The man turned and gave Swedo a goofy grin that belonged on a teenager, not on a twenty four year old man and elite soldier. "This song's _classic_ and I think the Skinnies on the other side like it."

The ranger gestured over to the other side of the fence and across the full two mile stretch of minefields. The North Koreans on the other side, "Skinnies" was the most common and least insulting of their names, were nowhere to be seen.

"This is a _combat_ patrol corporal." Swedo scowled through his lenses which were adjusted for the night so that everything he saw was tinted green. "And the music is distracting us from our duties."

"From _what_ duties?" another soldier laughed as the point man grinned and shut off his speakers as ordered.

"Sir." A voice drawled next to Swedo. Gunnery Sergeant Patrick Bowman, the squad's designated marksman, shifted his shoulders to loosen something before continuing, "Skinnies over there have been threatening to nuke us for _years_ but you know they never get around to doing it."

"What if they attack?" Swedo said, forgetting that he was an officer for just a moment. Bowman had been here for almost a year now, and was therefore the most veteran amongst them. His skinny build didn't make him look as if he lifted weights as a hobby but Swedo had already heard he was a crack shot and expert hunter. Now that he thought of that, Swedo thought he smelled some type of jerky around Bowman.

Bowman smiled and shook his head; he reached into his pocket to pull out a strip of jerky and tore a sizeable piece off to chew thoughtfully on.

"They won't." he said. "And by the way, you, uh, probably don't want to bring so much of that gear with you next time."

"Why not?" Swedo panted and mopped sweat off his brow. The helmet and ammunition were beginning to really strain. Bowman only shrugged and continued to snack.

"Sun's rising." The man to the rear said and looked to the east. Swedo glanced at it for a moment, and then tapped the button on the side of the HUD lenses to exit out of night vision and continue short of breath and sweating on the rest of the patrol.

* * *

><p>1700 – Hickam airfield, Hawaii.<p>

"It takes sixteen hours to fly from here to Korea." Captain Thomas Witt explained to his squad, a Ghost Recon tactical group of four. It wasn't _his_ own squad though, Special Operations Command liked throwing their troops curveballs and these men would take some getting used to. It was something a Ghost, a once secret advanced special warfighting asset of the United States that had gone public with the creation of its Joint Strike Force, was so supposed to take into stride and spitball toward the enemy. "So we'll be jumping in at night when we arrive. We'll be performing a HALO jump into the coastal waters of North Korea and from there we'll go in and set up an OP to await further orders."

"Sir," Master Sergeant Michael Sullivan raised a long arm in question. "What are the parameters of the mission?"

"For now, we're just dropping in and sitting there. The CIA thinks that shit could go down in North Korea soon and so SOCCOM wants us in there early." Witt bullshitted. Well, that was what the CIA officer had told _him_ anyway. What the hell could Witt do about that?

"Nothing_ ever_ happens in North Korea." Sullivan frowned, "Why don't they just send us into Russia?"

"Who the hell knows." Witt shook his head and looked over his team once again. Michael Sullivan was the squad's automatic riflemen, sporting the team's heavy machine gun although his tall and skinny appearance made it seem as though a slight breeze would send him and his equipment toppling over. Master Sergeant Jonathan Park was the squad's medic and also Korean translator, but he wasn't technically a Ghost operative yet. He'd been pulled straight from the ranks of regular army and while his scores and physical condition were top marks like every Ghost should have been, he lacked the fundamental experience that made Thomas Witt and his _old_ squad so deadly efficient.

Fuck SOCCOM, Thomas Witt mused as he looked over the last man he felt most confident and wary of. Second Lieutenant Anthony Long, was of the old breed, a Ghost veteran of twenty years as opposed to Witt's own six years as an operative. Long was quiet hadn't spoken a word to any of them since the greeting and merely sat in the back tinkering either with his M200 Chey-Tac Intervention Sniper rifle, or the explosive C4 detonators which he handled so casually he Witt thought he might actually juggle them. Long also, Witt suspected, held the others in disdain much the way Witt held Park and Sullivan in his own mind. Witt saw the task set for him, tying this odd group of elite operatives together into a coherent fighting force.

Why the _fuck_ would SOCCOM even think of doing this to them?

Before being selected for Ghost Recon, Thomas Witt had been a green beret, training militia groups in South America on black operations. Witt knew that if he was specifically being selected for this Korea mission and it furballed into a full blown war, Witt would be not only one of the few men completely behind enemy lines, he would be the one training locals as rebels.

It was a daunting task, even for a Ghost.

"Any questions?" Witt raised his voice over the sounds of the massive Galaxy transport began spinning up its jet turbines. No one had any.

"Okay, grab your equipment; ramps in ten minutes." Witt said and looked to the west, where the sun was sinking and where his destination lay.

0400 – Vladivostok, Russia (Close to the North Korean Border).

It was so _goddamn cold_ in Russia, Special Agent Kirsten Blanco sat as close as she could to the portable heater and _still_ could see her breath in the air. It was 1 degree Celsius right now. That was a _hair_ over freezing in Fahrenheit and it was the _summer_. Russia was crazy. She blew into her mittens again to keep them warm. She'd have a lot of choice words to tell Sam Fisher, head of 3rd Echelon at the National Security Agency, when she got back. And maybe the old coot would send her somewhere with lots of sun. Maybe Cuba, she liked that. Her fluent Spanish was out of practice, she had spent the last six months in Russia.

The people here were very friendly, Blanco certainly gave them that. The Russians had a very heartwarming faces and infectious booming laughs that were even louder and more infectious at the dimly lit bar not unlike sports bars back in the States. Blanco wasn't here for the people though. And the drinks gave her headaches which she liked to avoid. And she didn't like bar peanuts.

"_Priviet,"_ a gentlemen slid onto the stool next to Blanco and pressed his glasses further up his nose so they didn't slip. "Kirstepah Kuminova. Or should I call you WHITEWASH?"

"You'd be SHORTROUND then." Blanco said, flicking her eyes up and down as she did. The man was wiry and insignificant looking, black hair and slanted eyes and he sniffled a lot in the cold. So this was her CIA contact. SHORTROUND was a codenamed asset in North Korea, the _only_ asset in North Korea to her knowledge. "Your Russian is excellent."

"Thanks." SHORTROUND reached out his hand, "Names Bobby Hun." He said quietly in heavily accented English.

"You're Korean." Blanco allowed herself a bit of surprise.

"Born and raised." Hun smiled back and shivered in his trench coat. "My mother escaped over to the States through China and brought me. I never thought I'd ever go _back_ to the black hole though." The black hole referred to North Korea seeing as how almost _no_ intelligence ever came out of it, which made Hun a very special person indeed.

"It must have been hard to get out of the country." Blanco observed.

"It was a bitch." Hun nodded. "You just can't _bribe_ officials over there. They're fanatical; I had to steal the travel pass."

"What do you have for me?" Blanco asked. Hun jerked his head over to the booth and they both slid in while Hun pulled out a tape recorder from his pants pocket.

"Can you get this through your network? I can't let this into the CIA, they're being too watched over here." Hun's eyes darted toward the door where a drunk couple had just entered and were yelling angrily at the bartender to give them more vodka. Blanco managed a smile.

"Probably." Blanco nodded. "What is it?"

"I bugged Kim Jung Un's War department meeting, and they've got a confirmed date for invasion." Hun said completely serious.

"Of who?"

"Who the hell do you think?" Hun said. "Kim Jung Un's been going on about reunification for decades."

This was big then. And on top of that the Russians were mobilizing their own force, six full Spetsnaz Guard Brigades and a shock army here in Vladivostok was enough firepower and men to roll over North Korea, South Korea and deal a lot of damage to Japan in the process. Whatever was going down here, it was huge. The US definitely needed to know about this.

"Okay, I'll get it to Fisher and he'll see it gets to the right people." Blanco said. Hun signaled the waiter for a shot and downed it in one gulp. "When do you go back in country?"

"Tomorrow." Hun coughed and shook his head. Russian Vodka wasn't for the weak, Blanco probably should have warned him.

"You should enjoy the city." Blanco smiled and got up to leave. "Russia's a wonderful place."

"As long as we don't get shot in the process." Hun smiled back and walked behind her. There was a storm coming in Korea, and it would involve lots of people. Blanco wasn't a soldier, she was an intelligence officer. A spy. She wouldn't be treated as a prisoner of war if she was captured, she faced imprisonment, torture and then execution. The Russians didn't have a history of playing nicely with spies and although most of them got off alive, they weren't always completely intact. Blanco opened the door and stepped out onto the cold street where the sun was just rising in the east. It did nothing to warm her.


	3. Chapter 2

0500 – off Oahu

There was nothing like a good old Naval wargame to get the blood boiling, Vice Admiral Daniel Mahan thought as he jogged the flight deck of his carrier USS Enterprise, CVN-1. It was the pride and joy of the US fleet, the first completed next generation carrier had the fastest most efficient launch platform in the entire world. If the old _Nimitz_-class supercarriers could shoot off a pair of fighters every thirty seven seconds in day time, Mahan and his Enterprise could launch a pair every _thirty_ seconds. Seven seconds was a lot under combat conditions. He'd prove that today in these games.

The PACIFICA/CAPNID wargames PANTO was going to be playing here would be the largest Naval exercise in the world. It was also as real as it got, with four full carrier battlegroups of the entire US 7th fleet and assorted countries meeting on one of the Hawaiian islands to stage a mock war on both the air, sea and Land with its Joint Strike Force contingent. Mahan's team, PACIFICA, was a sharp bunch, he knew most of his fleet Captains by recognition, he knew how they acted, what their strengths and weaknesses were and how they would handle a war. Joining him for the first time was the Joint Strike Force contingent lead by Colonel Matt Beasely, a former rifleman from Ghost Recon's Alpha squad which was General Scott Mitchell's old unit. Mitchell had praised all his men for being cool and dependable under fire, taking what the enemy gave and kicking it right back in their face.

And Mitchell was the type of person who didn't bullshit anyone.

Shit was already going down on the "diplomatic" level. Negotiations between the fictional country PACIFICA and its revolutionary force backed by the CAPNID organization were beginning to break down and Mahan reckoned today would be the day shit would hit the fan. His entire battlegroup was on condition bravo alert status, just a hair trigger lower than actual combat operations so things were a little tense.

While the exercises were predetermined, the action was not. It was every bit as frantic as reality would get barring actual live ordinance being used. All of that would be waiting back at Pearl Harbor. It would be a good two weeks of games, Mahan decided as he completed his sixth lap around the 1200 foot long flat top. A peaceful little war around these beautiful islands was just what he craved for.

* * *

><p>2000 – Seoul<p>

"Come on, loosen up." Bowman said over the loud booming beats of K-pop at the Karoke bar. Swedo didn't mind the music actually; rather he appreciated all forms of it. He played a lot of guitar when he was younger although he couldn't find space for it on the flight over. He wondered if the South Koreans had any good Fenders, he had a nice pearl handled inlay back home.

"I'm fine man." Swedo said and took another shot of the orange flavored sake. It burned and the bitter/sour mix in his mouth wasn't pleasant in the slightest. It did _not_ taste good. The fuck was wrong with this country? Maybe the Skinnies had it bad but the people here, while jolly, didn't seem to understand the concept of _good taste._ This place was as effed up as Tokyo and that had been a _trip_.

"You don't _look_ fine," the African American Kentucky native Maxwell Brown grinned over the hip flask of whatever the hell he had brought back from base.

"It's the drink." Bowman said before Swedo could object. "Its not to his taste."

Bowman gave Swedo a knowing grin which Swedo returned sheepishly as he pushed the shot glass away.

"Yeah that's usually how it works." Brown chuckled and swigged again. He lifted the flask towards Swedo. "here, its better for ya."

Swedo took a swig and choked, the liquid seared his throat and ignited his stomach but left a sweet aftertaste in his mouth that he found oddly refreshing.

"The hell?" He coughed as his two comrades roared with laughter.

"It's apple moonshine." Bowman grinned.

"Really." Swedo coughed and laughed at the same time, it was painful but he'd let it slide. They were off duty tonight and he was being accepted readily amongst the squad now. He had to come off as one of them if he was to make the most of his time here.

"Where's your buddy?" Brown shouted as the Karoke began amongst riotous cheering. Swedo lay back, his head was bobbing a little from the alcohol.

"He should be here now, he took Smith out to the pistol range-

The doors to the bar slammed open so loud it eclipsed the booming music for a second. One very angry looking individual that Swedo recognized as Corporal Adam Smith, the smart mouth who had brought the speakers on the patrol last night, was immediately followed by a beaming smile set on the face of someone that was in a US Air Force uniform with a Captain's pin on his collar. Both sat down and immediately ordered drinks.

"Michael, good to see you!" Bowman raised his hand for shaking which was grabbed warmly by the Air Force Captain.

"Patchy. You too." The Captain grinned and spied Swedo and Brown lounging next to Bowman. "I'm Michael Cotugno, Captain."

"Michael Swedo, Lieutenant." Swedo shook Cotugnos hand and was surprised to find such a vicegrip on the man. For an air force pilot he didn't shake like a wimp. He had nothing on a Ranger of course.

"Private Max Brown sir."

"I'm off duty private." Cotugno beamed at the slumped figure of Smith who had just drunk his 3rd shot of sake in rapid succession and was gesturing for a fourth. The barman gave him a weird look.

"So how'd it go?" Patchy asked Cotugno who only shrugged and nodded at Smith.

"We had a shooting contest." Cotugno told Swedo and Brown.

"Are you a fucking assassin?" Smith looked up from his fifth shot, head swaying. The other four burst out laughing.

"Michael's just really good with the pistol." Bowman laughed and clapped Smith on the back. "what was the score?"

"out of 500 points, it was fucking 490 to 470." Smith took another swig.

"Four hundred and ninety hits?" Bowman raised an eyebrow. "Shit, you're slipping up dude."

"He can do _better?_" Smith slammed the glass down on the bar and looked at Bowman with wide drunken eyes. Cotugno and Bowman roared with laughter.

"I had a few to drink earlier." Cotugno patted Smith on the back and checked his watch. "But hey I got to get back to base. It's getting late."

"What do they babysit you back there?" Bowman laughed.

"We've got to be getting back too." Swedo told him. "We're doing PTs tomorrow at 0500."

"Yeah, see you later man. Same time next week?" Bowman said.

"Sure. And bring Smith in for a rematch, he might win his fifty back." Cotugno grinned and Smith scowled.

* * *

><p>2000 – Sea Of Japan (Drop Zone for Ghost team Sierra)<p>

"_DZ in two mikes."_ The pilot of the Galaxy transport told the Ghost team over the intercom. Witt checked that all of his harnesses were in place one last time and sealed his helmet. The integrated HUD booted up its HALO software and linked up with the other squadmates. Witt clicked the quick release for his parachute nervously. They'd be dropping in fully kitted out, exoskeleton suits, weapons and all the essentials for surviving in the wilderness of hostile territory along with fins and rebreathers for diving. The drop would be heavy, at least 50 pounds over the normal load which Witt thought of as the "safe" load. He'd have to hit the chute earlier if he didn't want the water to kill him on the fall. Water could break bones and crush skulls if you impacted at high speeds.

"_One mike_." The pilot said and Witt signaled for his squad to stand up as a crewman hit the ramp doors to open it into the night sky and black sea. The jet turbines of the Galaxy troop transport was an earsplitting roar that Witt didn't even bother talking over. He walked over to the ramp and waited for his signal. A light buzzed green and the crewman standing by the ramp switch shouted something inaudible but waved his arm frantically forward. Witt got a running start, five steps and then _jump_ and suddenly he was floating.

The wind rushing around him was exhilarating, he'd only done a High Altitude/Low Orbit jump once back in Jump school with the green berets. Witt wondered if he was terrified or exhilarated back then as he steered his hands to angle him toward the Galaxy which was rocketing away. His HUD immediately tagged the outlines of his squadmates, outlining them in light blue but back dropped by jet black starry sky. His altimeter wailed, as Witt fell below four thousand feet prompting him to tug the blue strap hard and release his chute. He felt as though he hit a brick wall, stopping so suddenly the wind was forced out of him as his hands groped blindly for the steering pulleys. He looked down, keeping his eyes sharp for a patrol boat or something, that would be an awkward thing to hit this early in the mission.

The sea came up to him quickly and Witt and his chute splashed into the water. One by one the others fell into the black sea and sounded off an all clear. Witt slipped the rebreather into his mouth taking a few experimental breaths before letting it become his only source of oxygen, then pulled out a white powder which he was careful to rub all over himself. Sharks were another rather awkward way to die this early in the mission. Together, the four ghosts dove underwater and began swimming their way toward their target.

It was a long two hour swim to the shore, Witt constantly checking his GPS to make sure the current didn't pull the four of them farther south or north away from their objective. They couldn't talk with rebreathers in their mouth. Once they passed a midget sub, the 800 foot long rounded black vessel popped up for a breath of air and peek with its periscope before diving back into the depths where it belonged. It was a tense moment for Witt, North Korea was the only country in this neck of the woods that deployed those things. He swore he saw a giant squid too.

They reached the North Korean shore at midnight, they slipped their swim gear off gratefully, it was constricting with the exoskeletons on; they covered their tracks on the beach and headed inland angling west and south toward the DMZ. There was a little forest where they took cover, ditching their swim gear here and ensuring it was properly camouflaged before taking the time to prepare for the land part of this mission.

They pulled their weapons, water sensitive equipment and ammunition, out of waterproof bags ensuring that everything was in order. One of Sullivan's boxes of ammunition had gotten seawater in them and he unfortunately had to chuck a hundred rounds. All of their HUDS and cameras were functioning, along with their exoskeletons, and everyone was perfectly healthy according to the vitals scanner. The photosensitive cloak was one of the most fragile and expensive tools in the Ghosts arsenal but if there was ever a place it was to be used, it was here. With a silent nod from Witt, they slipped them on and activated them.

Each cell in the cloak detected the light around it and adjusted itself to match it, the electronics program refreshing this check every nanosecond. Invisible, the Ghosts disappeared into the forest to begin their mission.


	4. Chapter 3

0700- off Oahu.

"_Striker three, Striker four we've got four unidentified radar tracks one six zero and sixty one clicks from your position. Intercept bogeys and walk identification."_ The E-2 Hawkeye AWACS radar craft, call sign "Telescope" cackled over the pilot intercom.

"Solid Copy, Telescope." Pierrera tugged the stick to the right as he pulled the Bobcat interceptor on a long leisurely turn toward the target. "Hulk?"

"On your four Diamondback." Hulk seconded. The two F-19 Bobcats, invisible to enemy radar streaked toward the intercept point. A hundred miles away the Heads Up Display began tagging the bogeys with yellow boxes which were the colors unknown contacts.

"S_triker three and four, Telescope, come right to one eight zero we're going to try to bring you in behind them."_

"Solid Copy, Telescope. Turning right one eight zero." Pierrera pressed his foot down on the rudder pedal to slide to the position. If the AWACs craft could detect these fighters, they weren't the stealthy profile of the F-19 and were probably F-18 Hornets from the CAPNID force. There wasn't any conflict between the two fleets yet, but PACIFICA was on a hair trigger here, the entire fleet was at Condition 2: ready to go to war in a heartbeat.

Pierrera and Monroe turned left and around to slot themselves twenty miles behind the target craft.

"Telescope, Striker three, Bogeys are ID'd Foxtrot eighteens." Pierrera said as his pilots eyes picked out the curious angled twin tail configuration of the Superhornet. Those were old, good back in the day but certainly no match for the F-19.

"_Striker three and four, cock your pistol and walk ID on bogeys. You are not to fire unless fired upon, say again weapons are tight." _Telescope ordered from a safe two hundred miles away.

"Good copy. Four, let's get in close and start 'em with 'winders." Pierrera kicked his throttle up to a thousand knots, supercruise speed, and then notched it down to 800 knots as he came within twenty miles. The grey fighters were keeping a tight formation, "Finger four" with the leader up front two fighters at his four and eight o'clock positions and a fourth fighter at his four o'clock's four. Pierrera took a deep breath. Okay, it was show time. He flipped open a missile bay door to break his stealth profile and reveal an AIM-9 Sidewinder onto the lead target.

"Incoming fighters, this is the PACIFICA force at your six." Pierrera said in his clearest voice over the open channel. "You are in restricted PACIFICA airspace, exit the zone immediately or we will use deadly force._"_

Even as he said that the four fighters split into a well organized scatter, separating into two plane elements and branching in opposite directions. Pierrera went left to stay on the Leader pair and hoped that Hulk was smart enough to follow as he was trained.

"_PACIFICA, CAPNID, we are in our designated air space. You are ordered to turn around and exit CAPNID air space at this time."_

Pierrera followed the evasive Lead pair through the clouds, they climbed 60,000 feet then dove for the deck to try to throw Pierrera off and get in on his tail, but Pierrera inverted and followed them straight down. His neck craned briefly upward searching for the other pair of F-18s which had mysteriously disappeared from his Heads Up Display. He opened the channel with Telescope again.

"Telescope, Striker three, bogeys are ID'd CAPNID fighters, they aren't turning and I've lost the other pair."

"_Striker three, Striker four, the other two bandits are thirty miles south of you. Weapons free. Smoke' em."_

"Got it." Pierrera grinned as he thumbed the pickle trigger to activate the 'winders infrared tracking software, looked directly at the twin burn trails of the F/A-18 to lock it in with his HUD and almost immediately the pipping tone in his helmet screeched a good lock. With a simple identification, the unidentified fighters had become hostile and therefore: targets.

"Good tone! " He couldn't help but shout, he could feel his adrenaline spiking as he became a sky hunter.

"Good tone!" He thought he heard Hulk say through the channel as well.

"Fox two!" Pierrera squeezed the trigger and the training software on the sidewinder simulated a launch and-

" _Striker three and Striker four, good kills good kills."_

"Yes!" Pierrera inverted and dove thumbing flares on the way down as he heard the warning tones of the other pair of F/A-18s began seeking heat seeker locks. Pierrera turned towards the other two Hornets-where was Hulk? Pierrera's wingmate disappeared amongst the clouds but the other two fighters were coming right at him, Pierrera snaprolled left while using his rudder pedals to keep his fighter in line with the bandits and then jinked right to avoid a collision as the two other fighters screamed past his left wing.

"He's comin on the flip side!" Hulk called out – where was he? Pierrera hauled back on the stick and climbed to take an inverted snap shot on the other two fighters which were now completing a half circle to engage in another head to head pass-

"I've got good lock-Fox two!" Hulk shouted

"_Striker four, good kill good kill!" _

Pierrera watched the HUD flash an X overlapping the image of the F/A 18 to his right which tumbled away as it was labeled "dead" for the exercise. So he set his HUD sights on the remaining F/A 18, and flipped open the missile bay door for another Sidewinder. There was no point in running now, the bandit was already commited to battle and to turn now meant a missile up the tailpipe. The only hope for this generation 3 fighter, old and now obsolete in the skies of stealth fighters, was to turn and attack both of his predators. The HUD screeched a good lock.

"Fox two!" Pierrera called and fired the imaginary missile which was tracked on the radar of the E-2 Hawkeye far away. Diamondback watched the F/A-18 drop chaff and dive-

"_That's a clean miss Striker three."_

Pierrera scowled turned onto the tail of the F/A-18 and locked in a second missile, screeching good lock but was rudely interrupted by a ping. Out of fuel! Out of goddamn fuel! Shit. Pierrera stayed with the bandit, just this one last shot-

"Fox two!" Pierrera shouted and immediately turned. "Telescope, Striker three is bingo fuel and RTB."

Pierrera hit the burners, he needed to get some distance between him and the bandit.

"_Striker three, good hit good hit."_ Telescope said. "_That ends the drill guys, go ahead and RTB. Nice flying."_

"Good copy and thanks." Pierrera let himself to let out a long breath he didn't know he'd been holding. He'd done okay. His first major exercise and he did okay. "Hulk?"

"I think you're lagging a couple klicks behind me Miles." Monroe said. "Nice flying out there."

"Yeah, you too." Pierrera smiled.

* * *

><p>0710 – CVN-1, USS ENTERPRISE<p>

The flight deck was bustling with activity. Enterprise had gone to battlestations almost as soon as Telescope had called in that two F-19s on Barrier Combat Air Patrol (BARCAP) had engaged four bogeys. Red shirted crewman pushed training munitions across the deck to load up the fighters, and to top off fuel tanks. Blue shirt mechanics made last touches on their fighters before the pilots jumped into the cockpits in preparation for launch.

The squadron leader of the 166th Naval Aviation Interceptors, The Deep Strikers, had just finished his morning coffee and was feeling good. He had 200 hours of stick time, 20 of those had been combat serving first with Artemis Corp before reenlisting to keep himself busy. The thing about being a Naval Aviator was that there was always something to keep himself busy, there was the controlled chaos of the flight deck and below decks like a choreographed Broadway number.

His bobcat was painted with 7 kills he had made serving with Artemis but the Navy was kind enough to carry those kills over. He was one of the only Aces in the United States that had made kills while flying for another interest.

A red shirt had been working since 0300, and had failed to secure the racks of the SLAMRAAM missile on the bobcat properly but the red shirt had already moved onto the next fighter-

The flight leader strolled up to his fighter sipping another cup of joe as he crouched down and brushed the undersides of his fighter lovingly. The new SLAMRAAM missile didn't fit into the missile bay doors of his F-19 but could be bolted on outside and then ejected racks and all to make the fighter stealthy. He watched the red safety flags on his pylon attached missiles flutter in the sea wind-

The gust of wind was enough to loosen the bolt ever so slightly and the entire front end of the two thousand pound long range missile crashed onto the flight leader's thigh with enough force to flatten him and crush the femur.

"Ah _fuck!"_ was the cry that repeatedly rang out over the flight deck as medical corpsmen rushed over.

* * *

><p>2100 – Vladivostock (close to the North Korean border)<p>

It took awhile to send over the audiofile. First, Blanco had to run it through a tape recorder she bought from a pawn shop (which had gotten an unusual stare in the process) and then to convert that to MP3 format which took an hour for her computer to synthesize. She couldn't wait to get out of this country. It was always cold here, there wasn't much to do. Spy work was often boring, often lonely. She wasn't even CIA, she was supposed to monitor the electronic communications here in Vladivostock where the Russians communicated with their satellites which was what the NSA did. If she wasn't doing on site recon – a job she had only done three times in her entire six month stay – she would be stuck in her crusty apartment scanning secure satellite frequencies through the hijacked and revamped CUTTER chord she had hooked up to the satellite television dish her neighbor used for entertainment. True if she began her search at a time when her neighbor was watching the tube his connection would get screwed over but satellite entertainment was so fidgety anyway it would probably be brushed off. That gave Blanco a freedom to operate in the restrictions of her apartment.

There wasn't anything new today, she noted duly as she read the Iridium encrypted messages that were fed through and decrypted by one of her machines. The SGB and GRU units in Vladivostock weren't mobilizing although they trained endlessly. There was a little word at the end of each message. _Pier viet_. Hello. What did it mean? It was too regular for that to be an accident. Blanco had thought that over for many days before growing tired of it and collating it in her report – once again – to Sam Fisher and the NSA.

Things were very monotonous in the underworld of intelligence. The media conversion had completed and with that she attatched the sound bit to her email and sent it on its merry way through a program the NSA used for covert officers called KINGPIN.

KINGPIN received the email, immediately encrypted the file, switching it to code and then changing the text to a WINGDINGS format before pushing it through an email it randomly generated. This process went through a hundred times in the space of a millisecond with KINGPIN guiding the message through each and every step. Once its initial encryptions were completed, it forwarded Blanco's message over to her first dead drop site which _then_ folded it into a randomized encryption called TAPDANCE, expanding the text and audiofile into a randomly generated series of numbers and letters to be sent – ten figures per six minute cycle – to the dead drop email of Sam Fisher.

With that part of her day accomplished Blanco got up from her seat by the computer and began to fix dinner. Asian foods were easy to acquire this close to Japan, China and Korea so Tofu was a very regular part of her diet in Russia although she appreciated the Russian's love for steaks. She switched on the tube; the television in Russia was good, there was a nice soap climaxing tonight and although the story was just the same crap she would find in America (_someone_ was going to get amnesia eventually and she bet it was Sergei, the down on luck banker) the acting was top notch and it gave her a chance to continue practicing her Russian.

It also gave her a chance to work out, she pulled out her yoga ball and began her stretches. Tomorrow she needed to get out, maybe another swing by the GRU army base would do her good. It was about that time to check up on their official movements, maybe snap a couple shots on her concealed camera. It was nice to get official work done while stretching the legs, she decided as Sergei woke up in his hospital bed not knowing who anyone was.


	5. Chapter 4

1000 – Dongsong, North Korean city close to the DMZ.

There wasn't a word for what lay below that Captain Witt could find at the moment. The first thing that came out of his mouth was a prompt "shit…" as he focused the helmet attached binoculars again to make sure he was seeing what he was supposed to be. That wasn't the observation target was it? No, the observation target was on the _other_ side of this mountain, the military base Sullivan and Long were eyeballing right now leaving Witt and Park to metaphorically gawk at the scene below.

They hadn't gotten a good look at either until now, the Ghost team had spent the better half of the night making a well camouflaged post that was semicomfortable enough to lay prone and watch their target from the top of the mountain.

"Does Command know about this?" Park whispered and shook his head.

"I don't know. Let's call it in." Witt said and patted Long on the back. "Get the booster up."

Long nodded and silently set up the satellite communication booster and activated the code scrambler, if any North Koreans were listening in, they wouldn't be able to hear anything and they wouldn't be able to triangulate this position. Long gave Witt a thumbs up.

"SOC Actual, come in SOC Actual, this is Sierra Actual."

"Sierra Actual you're a little fuzzy." The response came through a wash of static. "Check check check."

"Hearing you five by five, Actual." Witt said as the static disappeared.

"Solid copy. Send Traffic Sierra."

Witt looked toward Sullivan who was flashing hand signs toward him so that Witt could relay that to command.

"Ghost Team Sierra has successfully infiltrated and set up OP overlooking target; break. Readiness of the target is maximum, say again the enemy is at maximum readiness; break. Estimated numbers of target base are one hundred thousand; break."

"Copy last? One hundred thousand – one with five zeros?" Witt looked over to Sullivan again who was nodding furiously.

"That's a solid copy." Witt said. "Armor and heavy artillery too."

"Solid copy. Good report Sierra."

"One last thing Actual, we're overlooking something on the other side of our OP on hill 187, estimate it about twenty miles in diameter." Witt broke off as he searched for a better description.

"Didn't copy last Sierra, twenty miles in diameter – what is it you're looking at?"

"It's a concentration camp." Witt found his words and looked down below at the hundreds of Korean prisoners who walked between a quarry to break stone and also between the shoddily built wooden buildings. They were fenced in by barbed wire, and there were bodies hanged by a post that carrion birds picked at while the men and women –and goddamn _kids_ too- held their heads low and tried not to look up at what might have been their friends.

"Say again." the person on the other line responded, it wasn't phrased as a question.

"There's a concentration below our position at hill 187." Witt swallowed, there was some commotion going on down there a figure had stumbled, Witt zoomed his binoculars in. It was an old woman, hunched down attempting to pick up the stone that looked like a challenge for even Witt to lift. A Guard confronted her and after a short exchange-shot her in the head-

"Jesus Christ!" Park said a little too loudly, Witt immediately clamped a hand over the offender's mouth although his left was balled and shaking with rage. He couldn't do anything here, they'd expose themselves and what? Attack a prison camp with a hundred guards and break off with their assignment?

"Did you see that?" Park wrenched Witt's hand off his mouth and glared. "Did you _fucking_ see that?"

"Shut the hell up, Ghost." Witt hissed. "Its bullshit but we have our orders." Witt shoved him to make sure he got the message.

"Fuck." Park scowled and returned to watching. Witt looked away and continued the message.

"What happened?" Actual wanted to know.

"They shot one of the prisoners." Witt said.

"Sierra, there are concentration camps all over the country, satellite flyby must have missed this one. That's a good report."

"Solid copy Actual. We're standing by until the next report."

"WILCO, SOC out."

SOCCOM left the link leaving Witt and his three men to watch to sites on the mountain. One pair looked down at the North Korean soldiers, and the other looked down at what the soldiers did to their own countrymen. Witt popped a cigar out, lit it and puffed. It was a good way to deal with stress.

* * *

><p>0900 – Washington DC<p>

SHORTROUND's message had been immediately emailed to Director of Central Intelligence – Jonathan Mahan by Sam Fisher and upon a quick listen, was booted up to Presidential level. President David Becerra, former US marine and now first Latino American President of the United States listened and read the translation for a short moment. Once it was over, he walked over to the right side of the oval office where his official secretary was collating the business of the day: The Republican supermajority of Congress wanted a declaration of war against Russia to protect American interests abroad while the Russians swept through with its economic power, expanding its sphere of influence as far as the middle east. Becerra of course wasn't about to give that to them. There was already a war going on in the West, the Navy was preparing to take Iceland and deny that from the Europeans and his own domestic problems like synthesizing enough ethanol to run _that_ end of the war effort was something he needed to tackle quickly before even fantasizing about going up against the Russkies.

"Ms. Teller, please delay my meeting with the cabinet today and link up a conference video with the Joint Chiefs and PANTO. Tell them I'm not to be disturbed for an hour or two."

"yes Mr. President." Ms. Teller, the pretty black woman nodded as Becerra, President of the United States, shut the door leaving him secluded and alone inside the Oval office. Dominique was away on something known in the White House as "business trips", traveling the country as a First Lady should doing something nice for the kids. Dominique in particular was interested in promoting literacy among the homeless, something a president could not unfortunately bother himself with. It was sad what this post had actually become. Mostly it was bickering with Congress (which is what the Founding Fathers had designed it to be of course, but so few of them actually practiced it Becerra wondered if much thought had been put into the Government's design) and bickering within Becerra's own Democratic party.

He sat down behind his desk and lowered the television screens in the Office so the video conference could be linked through to all of them, he could see a secret service member patrolling the outer perimeter. There had already been threats of assassination, some surprisingly were traced to members of Congress itself and so security had been stepped up. POTUS, Becerra mused, was a post that people fought, bled and died for. The Joint Chiefs arrived first, winking one by one onto their individual television screens and with a muttered "Mr. President" as a matter of formality and then began their discussion.

"I'm sure Mahan sent all of you the news about Korea." Becerra said and the other Joint Chiefs nodded. The other PANTO nations were hooking up now, Becerra could see from a blinking light on his desk, but they would have to wait five minutes or so while the American people Becerra represented decided what to do about this problem. "Thoughts people?"

"If we take what they say literally and ad that to the state of readiness we've been observed from the Special Operations team deployed-"

"Ghosts?" Becerra raised an eyebrow to the Army Chief.

"Sir." Army nodded. "we can assume that their planned invasion will be happening today. Tomorrow for us."

"Do we have contingencies for this?"

"We do." EASTCOM – commander of all US forces deployed in East Asian bases-nodded. "And it isn't pretty. North Korea has an army of four million regular army troops on the DMZ at this moment. The Republic of Korea only has a million total and most of those are reservists. On the DMZ, we've probably got three hundred thousand or so. Most of our defenses are passive, and automated."

"So can we hold the 38th parallel if we get the word out to our people now?" Becerra already knew the answer but asked anyway.

"Definitely not." EASTCOM shook his head. "they'd just be overrun, simply put. Their army certainly isn't modern by today's standards but even if we had a tank that could kill three enemy tanks, the fourth enemy tank would kill us. And I'm not saying that our troops are bad but this isn't a fight we can win with the troops we have there. On top of this, we can throw on the fact that they have the largest special forces contingent – 500,000 men – in the world. Aside from our Joint Strike Force of course, but that's more of a heavy infantry role now that we've combined it with Marine Force Recon."

"Our fleet is in a bad position too." COMPACFLT – Commander Pacific Fleet – said "the CAPNID/PACIFICA games are under way right now, and it would take them at least two weeks to reach Korea, and that's not counting days we lose just getting all of our vessels armed and fueled. And then there is the rest of the PANTO fleet."

"Speaking of PANTO," EASTCOM said. "Is there a way we can back out of this? We're already diverting most of our resources to the invasion of Europe and I don't think we can handle a war on two fronts."

"We're not backing down on this." Becerra said. "The United States has stood against communism and tyranny, both of which will happen in the Republic of Korea if Kim Jong Un invades and the American people will not stand for the sacrifice of three hundred thousand of our own troops in that country. If the North Koreans want a fight, we'll give it to them." Becerra leaned back and put his fingers together. The Joint Chiefs shifted uneasily, it wasn't often Becerra brought the stick down on these people, but there were times when the Executive's decision was law. And he didn't think he could eke out of it anyway, with the Republicans controlling the House and Senate.

"it won't be just the North Koreans we're fighting I'm afraid. What if China moves in after we do?" EASTCOM said.

"Then we give them a fight too." Becerra said. "If the North Koreans attack, first this will have to be mostly a South Korean show, their generals are in the theater they know the land better than we do. But once our troops arrive in the area, we're running this. Agreed?"

The rest of them nodded. Becerra cut them from the line and prepared to address his comrades in PANTO, half a world away where the moon was high and the blood would soon run.

* * *

><p>1000 Seoul<p>

News of the impending invasion was quickly spread among the higher echelons of the Republic Of Korea's army, Air Force and Coast Guard. After a brisk meeting and debate, they settled for a contingency plan codenamed SNAPPING TURTLE which was developed in 2004, when its northern Democratic People's Republic of Korea had first developed nuclear weapons. Their decision immediately set balls rolling all over the Republic of Korea, Air bases immediately went on full alert, reservists were called up and ordered to report to posts and final fuel and ammunition checks were put into place as discreetly as possible; who knows if the North Koreans had any spies?

The Americans stationed in South Korea were not notified by the Republic of Korea. Rather they were activated by their own methods of communication. The General in command of all forces in South Korea was an avid football fan and therefore all of their codes and operations were football termed. He loved referring to the 75th Ranger light infantry contingent his "Running backs" because of their fast and mobile war fighting style, a few of the Ghosts which were too far south to be of any consequence were called "Linemen", and his warplanes were "wide receivers." It only took one phone call that was automatically sent to every base to activate them to maximum readiness.

"Snapcount." He said into the phone and set it back onto the charger. EASTCOM had given full theater command to the Koreans and the General would play ball with them. It was their show after all. And the message he had received about SNAPPING TURTLE seemed like a good play. Blitz around their linemen and maybe push the line back a couple yards. Seemed good to him.


	6. Chapter 5

1900 Seoul

"Rogue one to Hideout, I am five by five and ready to taxi." Captain Michael Cotugno settled easily into the rather uncomfortable cushions of the F-22 Raptor interceptor as he heard the thrum of his thousand horsepower Pratt and Whittney engines vibrate the stealthy airframe. He wheeled his fighter out onto the tarmac which was crowded with ground ratings, both American and Korean as they wheeled missiles, ammunition, fuel and made last minute caring changes onto the war birds about to spread their wings. Cotugno and his Brogue Rogues, 20th USAF interceptor squadron, were the first to launch after scrambling back to base during the SNAPCOUNT order. The tower responded after a short pause.

"_Rogue one, taxi to runway three, wind is ten at two one zero."_

"Solid Copy, wind is ten at two one zero." Cotugno said and touched the gel screen to link up his Raptor with the ground based radar and Force Tracker. After a quick look at his instruments, Cotugno was finally satisfied and picked up speed on the runway, moving at ten miles per hour.

"_Rogue one, sky is yours, sky is yours."_

"WILCO. My sky."

"_Splash some Skinnies for us."_ Flight control said.

Cotugno settled back into the flight seat and accelerated, soon the air base was a blur around him and he was in the night sky, nothing more than a trail of orange exhaust and running lights on a black backdrop. "Rogue one is aloft."

All around him other planes were lifting off of their runways, and not thirty meters behind him Rogue two was up and then three and four slotted in, taking a tight diamond formation as they raced the sixty miles to the DMZ.

"Rogues, how're we looking?" Cotugno ordered as he oriented them North, towards the DMZ.

"Two." "Three." Four." A-Okay.

"Rogue is on station." He told Hideout.

"Rogue lead your directives will now come from the AWACS on station, call sign "Evil Eye. Be advised we have Foxtrot one seventeens squawking on this frequency as well. " The flight controller reported in heavily accented English.

"Solid Copy." Cotugno replied and when he looked right, penetrating the night with green night vision filters, he could see the faint outlines of a massive number of fighters, the entire US contingent of F-22s, and F-35s, eighty planes, were flying at low speeds toward the DMZ, while behind them would be South Korean F-15 Slam Eagles and F-16 Slam Falcons, maybe a couple of the export F-35s they'd acquired recently. The black diamond outline of an F-117 Nighthawk slotted in at Cotugno's three o'clock and was close enough that Cotugno saw the pilot wave. Cotugno waved back.

"Rogue Lead, this is Wraith two, you think you can cover me to the target?"

"As long as you're buying when we get back." Cotugno smiled inside his flight mask. The Nighthawk waggled its wings and dipped below Cotugno's line of sight.

"I'll be back a little farther." Wraith two said. "Good hunting."

"All call signs this is Evil Eye, we have enemy radar tracks at three six zero angels thirty. Count them one hundred plus. Rogue, Corsiar, Bucaneer, Outlaw flights: snap to intercepts and start your attack fox three; weapons free, weapons free, weapons free."

"Solid copy." That would be practically their entire air contingent. Cotugno touched the MASTER ARM on the gel screen and his HUD booted the missile tracking software. Boxes appeared in midair – targets tagged on his Heads Up Display and tracked by the AWACs and its powerful big bulge radar. With Cotugno's forward radar array turned off, the enemy couldn't detect its emissions and therefore didn't know that there were dozens of stealth fighters screaming towards them right now. It looked like intelligence was right for once, there were more fighters up over the DMZ than Cotugno had ever seen, even if they were beyond visual range. He set his eyes on one target over sixty miles away and got a constant tone as the red box blinked.

"Good tone, Good tone." He reported and the other three reported good locks as well. Cotugno opened his missile bay doors, breaking his stealth outline. He could imagine the Skinny pilots, who only had an average of seven hours of flight time (so said the reports anyway, because they feared defections) jumping as their radars suddenly lit up with radar contacts, _hundreds _of them. They probably didn't expect much air opposition tonight.

"Fox three!" he squeezed the pickle trigger and his index finger at the same time. The Viper air intercept missile dropped from the enclosed missile bay and fired its boosters, picking up its velocity from four hundred knots to well over a thousand in the blink of an eye. Cotugno shut his own eyes to prevent himself from being blinded by the flare exhaust as his Viper air to air missile, followed by another three, and then _hundreds_ streaked off towards their targets. Cotugno closed his missile bay doors and counted five beats of his heart as the missiles ate up the distance to their targets- small flashes in the distance that fell, so the enemy was dropping flares. At least the Skinny pilots were smart enough to do that, but what followed was a staggered number of brighter flashes that signaled the deaths of a number of North Korean fighters. Cotugno didn't have a clue if his missile struck home, he'd have to check the tracker footage when he returned to base.

Cotugno hunted for more targets, scanning the black for them but finding none.

"No targets, Evil Eye." Cotugno reported. "Standing by."

"_All callsigns, proceed with phase two."_

"WILCO," Cotugno said. "Rogue group we're on ground targets now."

"two.""three.""four."

Cotugno nosed downward slightly and illuminated his look down radar to check for ground targets. His job was over for the moment, and those tanks down there needed his immediate attention. The missile bay doors opened once again to activate his Joint Strike Munitions and lock in.

Wraith group and their 12 F-117 Nighthawks streaked in at an altitude of eighty thousand feet, well above the range of infrared SAM detection and their diamond shape deflected radar signals, bouncing them harmlessly away so that if a careful radar controller did spot them, they looked like nothing bigger than a swarm of a dozen beetles and were overlooked anyway. They scanned the ground with their look down radars in bursts, reducing the chance of detection and once they approached their targets, the North Korean Taipodong missile facilities, immediately switched their autopilots and steadied the planes. One by one the Nighthawk's bomb bay doors opened to reveal GBU-14 Bunker busters capable of punching through the steel hats that masked the short ranged nuclear missiles and dropped once their smart heads tracked onto the pinpoint laser emitted from the aircraft.

All across North Korea, a dozen bombs fell on a dozen targets in a dozen different places. Each one was supposed to punch through the protective metal hat that protected Kim Jung Un's Taipodong nuclear missiles.

However North Korea had already unmasked their missile batteries in preparation for launching. The rockets were fueled and were undergoing launch preparations as they spoke. The rather ungainly seaborne missile clone fired from land only had an effective range of 2000 miles, barely enough to strike at Guam and by no means were these weapons accurate. The Minister of War of the Democratic People's Republic of Korea had aimed it at the nation of Japan who were tied to both the Americans and Capitalist Koreans by their PANTO alliance which would fall in the face of the combined arms of the soldiers of the Dear Leader. The unity of the Korean people, were mightier than the Americans and their atomic bombs, or their invisible planes, or even their Rods from Heaven-

The twelve bombs struck home, without the protective plating and the combined dead accuracy of the weapon and the well practiced Wraith squadron, many of whom had previously flown for Artemis Corp before reenlisting, resulted in four of the bunker busters actually drilling through the nose cones of the missiles to trigger off the plutonium-tidrium fuses. Four nuclear explosions, contained by the underground silo complexes happened in North Korea that night, vaporizing the four missile complexes that had housed them. The other missiles merely detonated their fuel cells and exploded rendering them useless. The weapons the Democratic People's Republic of Korea had been building up for decades were wiped out in the space of staggered seconds, courtesy of the USAF.

* * *

><p>Things were very different on the ground of the DMZ.<p>

"_Tangos in the open!_" A ranger shouted as the next line of sappers came into range of the rifle platoon. The North Koreans attacked in waves, but they were smart, making good use of the cover their dead tanks provided and deadly sniping action between platoon and battalion sized units raged all across the 38th parallel.

Swedo rapidly gestured for second squad to take the right flank, where their heavy weapons would be needed to repel the next wave of Type 72 tanks that were attempting to breach the minefield. It didn't look as if the North Koreans even _cared_ about what casualties they took, simply coming in dumb waves of tanks followed by riflemen and the occasional RPG-7 team to cross well over four miles of mines, barbed wire and electric fencing. They'd already breached two, but now the last and largest minefield seemed to be stopping them, their sappers couldn't move forward without being subject to accurate rifle fire from the guard towers and from the South Korean Marine platoons all across the DMZ, and their tanks were being pounded by air power. The only edge the North Koreans had on them were mortar and artillery fire which Swedo had discovered to his dismay had been pre-zeroed in on his own mortars.

Swedo ducked behind sandbags and tossed the empty magazine aside, searching for a new one on his tactical vest. It looked like goddamn _star wars_ overhead, red and green tracers crisscrossing and screaming as men on both sides fired at distant targets. Somewhere there was a SAW belching, its 4 barrels of the mini-gattling gun burping red tracers so quickly they looked like a continuous stream of fire. He could hear the roar of aircraft and flying missiles just barely over the sound of gunfire.

"Hey LT!" Smith crashed into cover next to Swedo and hitting his helmet as he did. Swedo didn't respond, instead choosing to pop out of cover and lay precise single shots just as he'd been trained. Here was something they never taught him when he had come in country- the North Koreans aimed pretty well. It wasn't like those stories of Al Queda fighters spraying AK-47 rounds at targets miles off. The green figures tagged and outlined in red by the HUD shot as well as any well disciplined infantry soldier.

"You guys told me this post was _peaceful!_" Swedo shouted at his Squad Automatic Rifleman.

"It was until about an hour ago! Fuck _me_ there's a lot of them!" Smith hissed as a round skimmed off the sandbag, spraying him with dust. Swedo took a deep breath and popped out of cover, lining up his red dot sight on a group of targets making a break for the next piece of broken tank. He registered the rangefinder in his HUD for the briefest moment- Tangos were about two hundred yards down range – and stroked the trigger. The SCAR-H was a decent shot kneeling, and braced against the sandbags it was even more steady. Swedo saw two targets drop – a 7.62 mm round tended to do that – and the others shoot bursts from the hip which made him duck even though the fire was nowhere near accurate. Swedo poked his head up to check the enemys' position.

A round skimmed off the side of his helmet, knocking him over and pinging the crosscom short antennae so that it waved wildly before snapping off.

"you okay LT?" Smith ducked down and patted Swedo down.

"I'm fine! I'm fine!" Swedo shoved the hands off as the HUD blinked frantically in the direction of where the shot had come from. The millimeter band radar implemented in each Future Force soldier's helmet tracked incoming rounds and were able to decipher where the rounds came from, and at what range they were fired so that a near miss would always mean the soldier could always prosecute that offender. This one told him there was a sniper out there, maybe a eight hundred yards out (Swedo was told in training not to put too much trust into the computer programs) and when Swedo leaned out again, the HUD immediately tagged the enemy sniper, registering his heat signature. He winked at it-

"Marksman! Shoot him!" he shouted. Could Bowman even hear him without the crosscom? Fuck this.

"Got him!" a faint voice shouted over the sounds of combat. The bang and crash of a tank round exploding against one of the guard towers muffled out any noise Swedo could hear for a second and a grey chokingly black smoke filled his nose.

"Fuck!" Smith coughed as he poked his head up from the sandbag. Swedo did so as well, switching visor modes to penetrate the smoke. It was a wasteland and a riot out there, orange flashes of grenades, hot tracer rounds, missiles, and mines going off interrupted the dark cold blue dirt, where men had fallen and some lay twitching.

"Third platoon!" Swedo heard Captain Haggs shout. Swedo turned toward the noise and saw Miller sprint towards them, spraying fire from the hip before sliding into cover next to them.

"How you holding up?" Captain Haggs panted and ejected his spent magazine.

"Taking a beating but we'll hold 'em!" Swedo nodded as Smith popped up and laid down more fire with his SCAR-MG. Jesus how many of his men did he still have? That stray round had knocked out his squad's vitals too, nothing was working right!

"That's good work Ranger." Haggs said and patted Smith on the shoulder. "Okay you all listen up! You make sure you hit only what you can, I don't want no glory charges here. We hold them out for another couple of minutes and we fall back!"

"Yes sir!" Swedo said and received a pat on the side of his helmet. "Smith, get that out on the channel!"

"Yes sir!" Smith gritted his teeth and ducked below for a quick breather. "We've got maybe a dozen hooking left."

"We'll have to let Sergeant Hood take care of 'em!" Haggs said. Hood was a good man, the other men said he had a cool head. Swedo only hoped that he could live up to these guys. Haggs patted Swedo's helmet one last time before running down the line to continue relaying his message.

"Ranger's lead the way son!" Haggs shouted and ran through the smoke and down the line, firing from his hip as tracers crisscrossed his path.

"All the way!" Swedo said more to himself than anyone; then he knelt back up and sighted up on the next group of shooters who were presenting nice standing shots in the open.


	7. Chapter 6

2300 – Pearl Harbor

Admiral Mahan wasn't all too happy getting that email from his brother at the CIA. It was a pretty big breach in protocol for them to be sharing information like that, especially _before_ the official order went out, but in the grand scheme President Becerra probably didn't mind. It was odd that two brothers held high positions in the government, one as Director of Central Intelligence, and the other as an Admiral in the US Pacific fleet, and while Director Mahan might have gotten to his post riding a political ticket, he was very well suited for the job and probably had used that ticket only to make sure someone else with something other than national security on his agenda wouldn't take the post. What had resulted was an extremely smooth understanding between the CIA and the US fleet that had probably never happened before.

Mahan walked into the Combat Direction Center, the real brains of USS _Enterprise_ (which he had come to privately referring as his "baby") which was undergoing some software updates that were being put in place by a shady looking spook from the National Security Agency. He said it was supposed to fix bugs in the software engine that would confuse friendly aircraft with enemy aircraft which might have happened after today's exercise. Mahan believed him, just not fully. If he wasn't CIA he wasn't trustable.

"Just a couple more hours." The NSA wiped sweat off his forehead which glowed in the blue lighting of the CDC. He tapped in a few more commands on the laptop that was jacked into the CDC computer. "And then I'll do a couple more scans to make sure its clean."

"It _is_ clean." Mahan shook his head. "This ship is _brand new_."

"We'll double check." The agent shrugged, what could Mahan do besides leave one of the Joint Strike Force Ghosts here to make sure he didn't screw something _too_ badly up. Mahan walked out of the CDC and took the lift to the Bravo level, where a hundred planes were folded and in storage. He brushed his hands on a fighter as he walked out to the hatch and took a look out at Pearl Harbor.

There were lots of lights out now, Hawaii had a great nightlife. He'd given as many of his sailors, and the sailors and marines from the other PANTO fleets as much R&R as he could spare, those that weren't were busy loading up the ships and would be working half watches anyway so they could get an opportunity to rest. Over the sounds of machinery whining Mahan could hear laughter floating across the water. Those were sailors, _his _sailors out there enjoying themselves.

Maybe this was the way this place had looked on December 6th. But at least this fleet wasn't taking a surprise carrier attack at dawn. December 6th must have looked much better knowing that December 7th had nothing deadly in store for them Mahan chuckled.

* * *

><p>2300 – Pearl Harbor<p>

It had to be the shittiest R&R in the history of shitty R&Rs, Pierrera decided. He didn't feel like mingling with the other guys who weren't even phased by the fact that their squadron leader, a real fighting veteran, had broken his leg because of a stupid accident. The man was a dick anyway, and while a good Captain, didn't do a whole lot for encouragement Pierrera had to admit as he gulped down another pint of ale. The little bar overlooking the harbor that so many sailors frequented stocked a little British brand he had taken a fancy to back in highschool and being able to drink it reminded him a bit of _home_.

Hawaii was nice and all but it really wasn't for him. It wasn't the sunny bays of California or the wide flats of Tenesse where he'd gone to college. There were too many tourists in Hawaii. He missed home.

Pierrera laughed to himself (more like choked on the ale because he tried to) and wiped the droplets from his chin. He wasn't even in a goddamn war yet and he wanted to go _home?_ Pilots went up and shot people, hadn't Pierrera realized that? He set down his tab and walked off.

The streets weren't really any better. A couple drunk sailors (from the cut of their uniforms they looked like engine room Snipes) fondled one of the local girls which Pierrera only found odd because the two sailors were women. Pierrera strode down, hands in his pockets all the way toward the base and barracks; he didn't even get a cab. _Enterprise_ was in dry dock and there were a bunch of poor suckers that had been working the entire day getting the ship ready for war. They loaded the carrier with food, ammunition, fuel, even more ammunition, fuck this. Any one of them, Pierrera decided, would ironically switch boots with him.

He made his way wordlessly to his bunk and the deserted corridors of the honeycombed _Enterprise_. Pierrera didn't actually know what _alone_ really meant until now. With the flight leader down for medical treatment, and with Pierrera's position as squadron executive officer, he'd been brevetted up to Captain. Pierrera hadn't even completed a naval _exercise _and now they wanted him to lead an entire squadron of the latest high tech supersonic stealth attack naval interceptors into a _war!_ Pierrera stuffed his head into the pillow. He didn't even try to scream into it, just let his shoulders shrug out the stress and maybe it would go away…

* * *

><p>1000 – Vladivostok (close to the North Korean border)<p>

Technology was a wonderful thing. Blanco sipped her coffee – black, lots of sugar – as she adjusted the cell phone to a more "comfortable" position while she dittered about something random about a pet dog in Russian. The black pea coat and matching gloves were the sort of fashion that didn't get her noticed, out of date fashions were so common in Russia (as they were practically everywhere else) they didn't attract notice, and the sunglasses were a needs must in the summer where the sun shined just as bright in the cold climate of Russia s they did in home sunny California.

The coffee shop was high end, a place where patrons paid an extra 900 rubles (and a regular cup of joe cost maybe 100 in this economy) for the service and view. The highest building in Vladivostok was a minimall/business center where stock traders could hawk crap about the economy on one floor and enjoy a nice _Blin_ sandwich wrap on another. This coffee shop was even placed next to a nightclub, where the view overlooked most of Vladivostok and its brilliant shining lights. She wasn't here for _that_ kind of view though.

She adjusted her sunglasses so she could see better before thumbing a button on the cell phone. Inside her sunglasses was a small wireless transmitter hooked up to her phone's Bluetooth port using an NSA Third Echelon encryption. She wasn't really calling anyone on with her phone either, rather she was making every use of the high powered camera, not unlike regular phone cameras just _better_. The phone didn't do anything but take and transmit images and it was here where it came in handy. The phone was transmitting its camera image and broadcasting it on the inside of her sunglasses.

For all the world, Blanco looked like a young business woman chatting about something pointless at a coffee shop and nothing like an American spy taking discreet pictures of the GRU army base on the outskirts of the city. The glasses, an older model that used to be used for Ghost Recon but now saw action in almost all the branches of the US military and intelligence, made out heat spots in the distance and with a discreet triple blink zoomed the camera in to focus on a number of tanks warming up for today's exercise. At least Blanco gathered it was an exercise, why else would they be warming up those tanks?

North Korea might have gone to war with the South, so the news had been proclaiming all morning, but what the hell was Russia supposed to be doing?

"_President Kapalkin, today has formally denounced the Democratic People's Republic of Korea for making an unprovoked attack on the Republic of Korea. He has also denounced the People's Republic of China for backing its communist ally in the past and now as well as the Americans and PANTO for escalating the conflict to this saturation point._"

Blanco slipped her sunglasses down to peer discreetly at the portable television one patron was watching. At the angle she couldn't see the man's face but if it was any indication of the way he sounded he was probably trying to come off as heroic. The government still ran most of the news here, and so there was still probably some spin to this. And already a "formal" denouncement? Had Kapalkin made a speech about - yes that was being played now. She caught the words "Terrorizing" and "Hostile". So a formal announcement had been made in less than ten hours, and most of that had probably been during sleep. Hell, Moscow was three hours behind Vladivostok. Blanco snapped a few more shots, listened to the decent length speech, then strode out of the shop, snapping her phone shut as she did.

It was a subtle slip up, but Blanco had caught it. It seemed like the Russians were _prepared_ for this outbreak, the formal response had come far too quickly. Speech writers took hours to edit, to comb over and then there was the hour for camera work to get in place, for directors to edit and cut – no it certainly wouldn't be done in four hours- less actually, seeing as how the speech wasn't live.

She'd have to collate this in her report and she'd have to do it now. The photos would go along with it. Things here were moving very quickly, and that Spetsnaz division probably wasn't here for show. If the Russians were learning something about speed, she'd need to pick up the pace too.

* * *

><p>1000 SIERRA squad OP (North Korea)<p>

It had been a very _tense_ night. Witt had been a veteran jungle fighter for years, was used to calling in close air support (when things got dicey that even became _danger_ close air support), was used to hearing rifle rounds off in the distance that meant some guerilla junky or soldier was having a fight of it but he'd never actually seen a full on _war_. It was impressive from this mountain, where the squad had taken turns taking a look through the high powered binoculars down as tanks, infantry, artillery and triple A batteries poured down the road in something Witt could only describe as a _river_ of war material.

There were troops _still_ moving down there fuel trucks ammunition, infantry, _everyone_. The whole goddamn _army_ of them. Last night they'd taken a good look as to what an army could do. Even though the battle thirty miles away at the DMZ was reduced to muted flashes and thunder the fact that there were so _many_ flashes, mixed with the sounds of screaming aircraft overhead told him just how much shit had hit the fan and was now coating the ceiling and walls. To put it bluntly, who fucked up?

"Overlord this is Sierra Actual." Witt muttered into the satellite radio.

"five by five Sierra." Actual responded without any hint of static.

"What the hell went on yesterday? It would have been nice to know that we were blowing the crap out of the North Koreans."

"Sierra, the Korean People's Army launched a surprise attack yesterday that has pushed friendly forces back about ten miles. It was pretty big sonny."

That was such bullshit, if it was such a surprise how were there so many friendly aircraft overhead? The North Koreans didn't have very many fighter aircraft did they?

"Well shit Actual." Witt shook his head. "next time a party's gonna happen give us a warning will you?"

"That's a solid copy Sierra." Command bullshitted. The way the military bureaucracy worked nowadays, it seemed that the last people to know were the guys actually getting shot at. Witt never liked that. "Anything to report?"

"Enemy is moving out of their base now, looks like the full contingent. Say again, all troops are leaving the base, break."

"Nice report Sierra. We've got something for you."

"Finally." Sullivan muttered and Witt silenced him with a cutting gesture.

"Go ahead Actual."

"That camp down west and below you is a political prison camp, it'd be real cordial of you to drop right in and liberate it. Maybe begin training a couple of them for us."

"Actual do you think many of them would actually fight?" Witt knew from what he had seen that this place had a _lot _of families, fathers tended to not leave their little ones behind, especially if there was no food or shelter for their wives and kids. And Witt didn't expect to be finding much of _that_ here.

"We're going to have to try." Actual said. "We liberate the camp, arm the locals take whoever you can. And be persuasive Sierra."

Witt generally was. He'd had lots of practice acting as what the US army had called "Force Multiplying". He could build up an army from scratch, as long as he had food ammo and weapons he could steal. It was all the enemy's crap anyway, so stealing didn't hurt him so much.

"I'll try to be. Any specifics as to how you want us to raid it?"

"Take it by dynamic risk assessment Sierra," Actual said. "We'll try to secure some air assets for you, but remember that the sooner you get this done, the more time you have to train your army."

"WILCO Actual. Wish us some good luck. Out." Witt rolled his eyes. This guy probably had spent his entire military career behind a desk and he wasn't going to be doing anything close to what Witt had done during Jump School let alone what he was doing now.

"What's dynamic risk assessment?" Park rubbed his legs as he rolled from his still position behind the rocks.

"He told us to wing it." Long shrugged. "Won't be the first time Ghosts have had to do that."

"Right." Witt nodded. "So let's get started." He took out his combat knife, a slick black piece of sharpened metal called the OKC-3S (and what a lot of ex marines still called the "Oxy three") and began tracing a rough map for them.

"Now from what we've seen, the guard towers are here here and here…"


	8. Chapter 7

0600 – Seoul

The 75th had been pulled off the line while South Korean marines covered the hasty retreat with tube artillery and heavy close air support. Swedo and his 3rd platoon had taken light casualties and it pissed him off that he didn't know the names and faces of the men who were wounded or killed. They were hustling toward the capital in a M2 Bradley IFV, things had gone south there. Swedo remembered in his pre country briefing that the Skinnies had dug tunnels all over South Korea, most of which had never been uncovered and some large enough to sneak tanks through. The ROK had discovered maybe a dozen, and estimated a dozen more. They were true.

The air attacks and Rangers like Swedo had held the line against the Korean People's Army, but those tunnels went _under_ it anyway and there were maybe some hundred thousand troops fighting for the capital. It wasn't going to be pretty, Swedo mused. Seoul was a _big_ city, almost like LA. The buildings were pretty big and the mirrored windows offered lots of cover for snipers, parking structures, telephone booths, internet towers, vending machines cars on the street _all_ became hard cover for tangos. And on top of that, there were civilians running around. It was definitely a bad scenario for them to be in.

They only had a little time to load up, the Bradley convoy had made a quick stop by the base while the MPs shoved ammunition into their hands, and they were sped on their way. Swedo checked the ammunition magazine, thumbing the first of twenty Full Metal Jacket 7.62 rounds ready to be loaded into his empty SCAR-H. Smith was thumbing rounds into his box magazines for his own SCAR-MG. Brown chewed sullenly on an MRE (Three lies for the price of one, had been the fast name for them) Bowman had made it out alive as well. _He_ was sharpening his non-GI bowie knife against the bulkhead that made an spine tingling _shuuk-shuuk_ sound every time he whetted it. The driver had even asked him to shut it up in passable English. Bowman ignored it.

There were no windows in the Bradley, no firing ports either for Swedo to look out. He wondered what Seoul looked like now? It was a nice city, too bad there was a war going on. The rumble of tracks over paved roads was minimal, but the engine's roar as they made good speed, 20 miles per hour it seemed, was all Swedo could listen to right then. He would have even been happy for Brown and his rap.

There was the radio chatter of course, that was tense but he felt they had climaxed already and Swedo probably should have been getting some rest…

"_Action right, Action right!"_ one of the IFV commanders shouted over the crosscom, bolting Swedo upright.

"Lock and load!" He snapped to his squad-they were already moving before he was.

"_Targets in the windows, second deck!"_ Sergeant Cooper, leader of third squad, shouted into the channel. Swedo was already upright as the Bradley swerved to a halt and its big twenty millimeter cannon began burping rounds that echoed inside the hull. The vehicle commander was gesturing rapidly for them to _get out_ as he shouted in Korean. Swedo needed no further push, he slapped the hatch release and swung out onto the streets.

His first instinct was to seek cover, there was so little of it here the only thing he could find was the left side of his own Bradley which sparked as bullets ricocheted off it. Rounds kicked up pieces of street which were tossed like rocks thrown from dissidents. Third platoon and its Bradley's were pinned in the middle of the street, taking fire from a commercial building that was all glass, very _thick_ glass. Muzzle smoke pointed out fire direction, which in turn was registered by Swedo's HUD and conveniently tagged targets for him. He lay down covering fire, as the other ten men of first squad tumbled out of the IFV.

"Who's down?" Swedo shouted, he was still cut off from his platoon's vitals, he hadn't loaded the repaired hardware on his HUD completely. His crosscom was working, but his health monitors and camera POVs weren't working right.

"Got zero down sir!" Bowman shouted over the noise and triggered a double tap as he did. "Fuck!"

An RPG screamed down and burst on the lead Bradley's refractive coating but sent the squad behind it diving for cover nonetheless. Over the crosscom, someone – presumably the squadron leader – barked something in Korean which sent smoke grenades cascading around them. His HUD automatically adjusted, filtering through the smoke to identify the targets inside the building which were beginning to appear now on the third and fourth decks. It was a climbing battle that the enemy had a head start on.

"_Third platoon!"_ the Captain barked over the channel. _"I want your men inside that building _now_! Second platoon will be right behind you, first and fourth, covering fire and get some tear gas in there. Breach and clear!"_

"Roger!" Swedo adjusted his helmet and patted Brown on the back. "You take point, we'll be right behind you!"

"I got it!" Brown nodded without looking away and charged through the smoke. Swedo looked at the rest of his squad, all eyes on him, and then let out a breath to follow. "Third platoon – _hustle!_"

They ran in a line to the side of the building, where rounds kicked up the pieces of street. Swedo heard someone gasp which was presceded by a wet _thwack_. They slapped into the side of the building, there were no troops on the bottom floor that they could see. Swedo looked around, checking that third platoon was all in order. Then he took the butt stock of his SCAR and slammed a window in, leaping through the panes even before the glass had all clinked to the floor. His rifle swung up and he went back to his training. He was clearing the room, control the corners and sweep up the cover yard by yard. The sounds of rifle fire outside became muted and echoed through the lobby of the office building.

"Third squad, fourth squad take the back of the building." Swedo barked into the crosscom. "Head up to the sixth floor and sandwich them. I'll take first and second bottom up. Check your fire, watch for Noncombatants."

"Sir!" the two sergeants nodded and the platoon ran up to their respective stair wells. The elevators would create a massive kill box if the Rangers decided to take that way. Better to take the stairs. _In case of emergency_. Swedo noted dryly. Swedo lead first squad up and snapped a fist up once they reached the first floor stairwell. He gestured rapidly and one of his men pulled out a fiberoptic snake head camera to slide under the gap in the doorway. After a few moments he nodded his head and held up two fingers, then pointed to the left. Two tangos, left side. The ranger withdrew back for a moment, Swedo would be on the door then. He received a pat on the helmet and then he yanked the door open, Brown swung in rifle blazing. And immediately behind him went the rest of the Ranger platoon. They cleared it room by room, floor by floor. It was a blur of action for Swedo, every moment flashed into the next. Everything was so automatic for him, there was no thought. Open the door, one step, two step, _turn_, rifle up and engage tangos.

"Clear!"

"Clear!"

"_Clear!"_

For Swedo, it felt like a first test retaken several times. But here, if he passed he lived. If he failed, he died. He opened the next door and brought the sights up on the next tango.

* * *

><p>2100 CVN-1 USS <em>Enterprise<em>, Pearl Harbor

Admiral Mahan was overlooking the last of his equipment. The first elements of the combined PANTO task force were already steaming out. He'd rushed replenishment orders on his attack subs first. God knew they would be needed across the Pacific. North Korea and China had substantial fleets and most of the fleets to defend Japan and Korea were _here_. They'd be eager to get back to defend their homes. It would be a two week journey, his crews would need to be kept sharp but not be tired once they reached Korea. It would be a tough one.

"Admiral." An accented voice said over the drone of cranes and chains lifting food through the hangar doors. Mahan turned and nodded to his Australian counterpart. The Royal Australian Navy had an excellent tradition, one Mahan respected.

"I've taken a good look at the battle reports coming in from Korea and its not pretty." The Australian frowned.

"I know." Mahan gestured with his cell phone, he'd read the emails streaming in from the CIA. The Korean People's Army had stormed across the border ignoring their casualties and seizing the capital in a special forces raid. The only plus for them was that air superiority was total and that most of the civilians were evacuated. Casualties were heavy on both sides. Almost a thousand dead in the outbreak and many more missing. Maybe fifty thousand wounded? That tied up resources _and_ they weren't combat fit soldiers. That sort of thing generally didn't happen in the Navy. Mahan was glad about that.

"Hell of a fight." The Australian shrugged.

"It will be. Was there something you wanted?" Mahan asked.

"Just a social visit." The Australian smiled and offered the flask of brandy he'd been hiding in his sleeve. Mahan took it and sipped.

"Maybe this war will finally be the last one." Mahan said without knowing why. The Australian snorted and took a sip too.

"No, think about it, We're fighting the Europeans, the Europeans are fighting the Russians and the Russians are hitting everything they can. Throw that on top of the Middle East issue that's on the rise, Brazil throwing its lot in with the States, this whole PANTO shit with Korea and maybe China too it'll be the first totally global war. Maybe we'll finally see that this should be the last one."

"That's something I can drink to." The Australian said after a moment of silence. "To the Last war." He handed the flask to Mahan who took another sip, this one longer. He swirled it in his mouth before letting it burn down his throat.

"To the End War."


	9. Chapter 8

2300 – 38th Parallel, what used to be the DMZ.

Michael Cotugno fought the urge to rub sleep from his eyes. Two full days of sorties! Two full fucking days! He thought that the Skinnies would be finished after round one, hadn't _that_ knocked the air force out? He hadn't even fired a missile since the first day. All of his other flights had been running escort for wild weasel fighters, deep strike bombers and now it was the only Spooky AC-130 gunship in theater. Why the hell wasn't this down by the front lines where it was needed and way up by the old DMZ? So what if Special Forces needed it? It seemed like a horrible waste of resources in Cotugno's mind but then again he was only a pilot and only an interceptor at that.

He settled into the pilot's seat again flicking his eyes briefly at the quartet of American Wild Weasel F-35 Lightnings that were trailing six miles behind a half dozen Predator UAVs. If the enemy had any SAMs-

Yes, there they were, a ripple of missiles licked out from the ground, obscured by the trees.

"_Got a visual. ID SA-9 portables."_ One of the Lightning's said.

"_Weapons free."_

"_WILCO."_ The F-35s dove for the deck and locked in radiation seeking missiles, firing off the pylon missiles at their targets. Four fireballs ripped through the night, four predators fell but another four engulfed the treeline as the Wild Weasels made devastating contact and cleared the lane for the Spooky and its flight escorts. They were off the track now, there wasn't even an AWACs guiding them in. They'd have to rely completely on the Spooky's radar. It wasn't exactly a bad radar but the powerful Big Bulge systems on the E-3 was something he missed along with the crosscom link.

It was so boring up here. And there was a _war_ going on. When were the Chinese pilots going to come in? That was something Cotugno wanted to know. They had a lot of planes, and that J-20 Black Silk was supposed to be the F-22 raptor's equal. Well, Cotugno would have to figure out if _that_ little legend was true.

"_Rogue Lead we've established contact with Sierra team and we're starting our tracks now."_

"Solid Copy, Archangel." Cotugno said back. Well maybe things would get spicy up here soon enough. Cotugno felt that ground pounding was unbearably dull and uneventful.

* * *

><p>"Systems check." The commanding officer of the AC-130 gunship ordered and took a deep breath. It would be the first time in a long while that they'd be in action. The crew was nervous though, a special operations raid deep behind enemy lines was all well and good for the guys on the ground and the crew would of course be happy to help. But it in this day and age it would only take one guy with a Staiga – 6 shoulder mounted SAM with a lot of luck to shoot down a tempting target like a Spooky.<p>

"Gunnery check."

"Countermeasure's check."

"Radar check."

"Start the clock." The Officer ordered and patted the gunnery sergeant manning the gun camera. The woman shifted in her seat, cricked her neck and then looked into the camera screen and down at the ground below…

* * *

><p>"<em>Sierra, Archangel is Oscar Sierra at this time."<em>

"Roger Archangel." Witt whispered into the boom mike. "Stand by and check your fire, we have noncombatants inside. We'll need you to take out the guard towers on the east side of the complex. Forty millimeter rounds are authorized, mind your aim and fire on my signal."

"_Solid copy Archangel, keeping to the forty mike mike."_

"Okay." Witt took a deep breath and flexed his shoulders from his prone position nervously. "Let's go." He moved aside the bush branch and flipped the power on his stealth cloak to diffuse into the night. He and his other three squadmates were now reduced to faint shimmers among the brush. They had taken a painstakingly long time going down the mountain side, watching for patrols and then waiting for nightfall to raid the camp. A quick request with SOCCOM had gotten them release for AC-130 gunship support, but only after they had scouted the area for flak weapons. Witt fingered the C-4 detonator hooked up to the portable radio to boost its signal. There were maybe 8 ZPU-4 quad batteries hidden in the forest.

He could hear the scream of a fighter craft streaking low overhead, the sort of crescendo that mixed with booms and roars. A fireball went up in the night and Witt used that time to hit the dets adding eight more and throwing the treeline into stark contrast; black tree shadows were outlined by orange blossoms and heat.

"Archangel, go loud." Witt muttered.

"_WILCO, targets tallied; going loud."_

The first shrieks as forty millimeter rounds rained down with more accuracy than any artillery weapon could ever achieve cast a shiver up Witt's spine as he sprinted toward the west side of the camp.

"Marksman." He whispered and flashed his M416 SOPMOD laser designator at one of the guard towers and two muffled puffs told him that Long had executed the two guards in the tower. Everything was muffled by the sounds of the AC-130's close air support ripping through the eastern section of the camp which was now milling with guards. Witt deactivated his cloak to let it recharge, it only offered him two minutes of invisibility before needing juice and came to a halt by the electric fence. He pulled out his wire cutters, pruning shears with rubber blades, and began working. It was a lot harder than people thought, cutting electric wiring in the middle of a fucking warzone while men Witt didn't know shouted things he didn't understand and fired rounds indiscriminately in the air at a bird of prey they couldn't see or touch.

"We're through." Witt said and slid into the camp, activating his cloak again. Sullivan and Park followed, Long would be moving around on overwatch picking off guard towers where he could and calling in fire support.

"Roger." Long responded. "the armory is thirty meters east of your current position, looks like a lot of guards are heading towards it now."

"Archangel, Sierra, multiple tangos moving toward the armory, we are marking with laser designators now." Witt said into the boom mike as he slid to the corner of a building and flipped the laser on again.

"_Roger copy, target acquired."_

There were a full dozen running full sprint toward the armory-they all suddenly exploded along with most of the ground beneath them. Dirt, men and limbs were tossed high into the air. The heat washed over his face like a blast of hot water.

"Delta hotel Archangel." Long said without a trace of sympathy.

"Sullivan secure the armory, Park on me." Witt ran up to the door of one of the buildings and opened it rifle raised.

He must have looked like a demon to them, his eyes were shrouded by his invisibility cloak which also blurred his outline. He was holding a very strange rifle to the North Koreans anyway, and there was an absolute inferno behind him where men screamed and artillery roared.

He didn't blame any of them for screaming when he first opened the door. What struck him first was how _skinny_ they all really were. There were plenty of skinny ones in the Korean People's Army, he could see that from his observation but the dirty clothes – rags really – on these _people_ didn't cling to their frames. They just _hung_ on them like sheets on a clothesline. They were all women here, maybe he'd run across a woman's dormitory-no there were a few men in the back.

"Tell them we're here to liberate them." Witt told Park. "And if any of them are able to fight, come with us."

* * *

><p>"Sir, I've got vehicles coming down the road, looks like a couple Bravo Mike Papas and cars too; two civilian cars." The gunnery operator reported. The Officer looked at the screen and saw the white outlines of six BMP-2 armored carriers rolling down the road to investigate the damage to the target. There were a lot of white figures running around down there, not all of them were enemy soldiers, this high they couldn't tell so the guns had remained silent after leveling the guard towers on the East side and swatting those troopers heading toward the armory.<p>

"Sierra, hostile armored vehicles and civilian vehicles are coming right at you."

"_Cleared to engage all of them, Archangel." _

"Say again?" The Captain cocked his head. "Two civilian vehicles are coming down the road."

"_Archangel, all targets on the road are to be considered hostile. Say again shoot with extreme prejudice."_

"Targets are keeping tight formation sir." The camera operator said. "Look at that." The screen showed all eight vehicles in a tight line.

"Let's get them with one shot." The captain said into the crew intercom. He was under the command of those guys on the ground, civilian or not those cars _were_ heading into a combat zone. At least he could give them a quick death. "Ready one oh five, adjust elevation to sixty thousand, and recalibrate azimuth sweep angle."

"Target acquired! Load HE!" The gunner ordered and the loader slammed a high explosive shell into the big 105mm gun.

"Gun ready! Send it!" the loader shouted and leaned away in anticipation of the round leaving the gunship.

"Shot Over!" the gunner squeezed the trigger and the boom of a massive shell leaving the Spooky's airframe shuddered through the hold and the gunner's screen – Set to White Hot infrared vision – paused as if capturing the moment of peace. Then the portion of land erupted into a white fireball that engulfed all vehicles on the road. "Delta Hotel!"

"Enemy tangos on the road; They're coming from the base – they're scattering five by five west." the gun spotter, a rating who did nothing but stare at the screen which was connected to the underside camera to spot targets, said from his station. "Make them enemy infantry and tanks, company strength."

"Take it to sixty two and acquire targets. Cleared to take all of them, gunner."

"Target acquired! Load HE!"

* * *

><p>"He wants to know why we should trust an American." Park said to Witt. There was one man who stood defiantly in the middle of the row of cramped bunks. He was the only one standing to them. Witt didn't know how to answer him. Usually the trust was built over time, when he was training the locals how to shoot, platoon and squad sized tactics, things needed to fight a war. That came naturally over time. Witt had to establish a trust <em>right now<em>. He didn't have any intention of blowing this place to high heaven, and he certainly couldn't let these people wander about the countryside where they could be picked up and forced to talk.

"Tell him." Witt looked for words as he eyed the action outside nervously. The Spooky had moved on, raining fire somewhere on the road. "Tell him because they're families need them to defend themselves."

Park rattled something out in Korean which the man took with silence and then stiffly nodded and gestured. He told Witt something.

"He says he was an officer in the Army. He knows how to shoot." The former officer gestured to the other men, and even a few women and they got up shakily.

"They've been starved." Park shook his head.

"I know." Witt looked out and raised a hand for them to follow him. "Tell them to do everything I tell them to, we'll get weapons in their hands soon enough. Send a couple to the other barracks and spread the word, it is time to rise up and overthrow this corrupt regime."

"Getting dicey out here boss." Sullivan snapped over the crosscom. "the guards are shooting some of the prisoners and they're itching for more ammo to do it."

"We'll get there. Give it one mike." Witt said and poked his head outside where figures in the dark scrambled and gunfire was background noise. The orange glow of a fire blotted out stars. The fumes were chokingly terrible. Witt gestured rapidly with his hand and swung out rifle raised. There were two guards crouched behind a mound of dirt facing the armory. Witt raised his hand but stayed his trigger finger as the former officer dashed in front and snapped one of the officers necks and another bashed the second's head in with a rock. Witt had to give it to these people, they could _fight_.

The two prisoners armed themselves and grinned to each other, and it was something that Witt thought he'd never forget. A pair of starved men, hair shaved bald, dirty and unrespectable arming themselves and smiling in the half twilight.

"Good." Witt said. "Let's go."


	10. Chapter 9

1800 - Beijing

Bridget Shelia Kavenaugh felt that it wasn't the best idea to be sending _her_ to see the Chinese. For one, even though the People's Republic of China was officially offered "Liberty and equality to all", the fact that she was a young woman would probably be taken as a snub by her adversaries across the table. She signaled quietely for a glass of water, Hong Kong was _hot_ during this time of year and the fumes from the city motorcycles, cars and factories diffused all the way through the city and even into what was supposed to be a "clean" room.

It was a conference hall that was probably designed to make people feel small, which was okay with Kavenaugh because she wasn't very tall in the first place, and made the Chinese feel powerful. Which is all well and good for them here but they probably wouldn't like the opening for today's discussion.

Kavenaugh had been the United States' official diplomat to the People's Republic of China for the past six years and had gotten to know these people well. Their officials were snobby, rich and aristocratic. Xu Fong, their foreign minister was late. She knew that she was supposed to be taking it as a snub; the _Chinese_ were in power here American. You might have summoned us, but we will _not_ be kowtowed by your Western pressure. We can come and go as we please. It was bad for Kavenaugh, she just wanted this to be over. Hong Kong and the rest of China would become Dodge City soon enough.

"All stand for the cabinet of the most honorable Minister Xu Fong of the People's Republic of China." One of the guards spoke and the American side of the table stood as was the formality. The Chinese entered, typically dressed in black suits and red ties. They stopped to bow to their flag while the Chinese National Anthem was sung, and then the United State's Anthem. The Joint Strike Force guard in ceremonial dress added "May God bless these proceedings" Kavenaugh noticed an air of discomfort from the Chinese at that. It wasn't unusual and it was always subtle, usually they just shifted their weight slightly at the words, maybe they brushed their lips or blinked rapidly. She leaned over and extended her hand to shake with Minister Fong who accepted it a little too quickly and shook forcefully.

Kavenaugh brushed her blond hair back behind her ear and opened up her report as the Minister Fong began his speech which was translated by one of his aids.

"The People's Republic of China welcomes the American envoy to this most humble city of Hong Kong under the watchful eyes of Heaven…"

Things went like that and even though everyone in the room knew that this sort of thing was absolute bullcrap, it was something they never did away with and therefore, wasted the entire two hours merely saying pretty things and greeting each other before breaking for air (and in the Chinese case, smokes) and refreshment. Kavenaugh own cookie was nibbled sparingly as it turned to ash whenever her lips pressed against it. It was another way to waste fifteen minutes before the diplomatic proceedings were resumed.

"Mr. Foreign Minister," Bridget began quickly. Better get this over with and decided. They wouldn't like this one bit. "The United States have noted your surface naval forces moving in what we would consider an aggressive posture against the countries of Taiwan and the Republic of Korea. The People's Liberation Army Air Force has repeatedly violated exclusion zones set by the Republic of Korea in the outbreak of the Korean Penninsula crisis and Taiwan's coastal defense force has been fired on repeatedly. It is in the interest of keeping peace between the United States and the People's Republic of China and therefore I am ordered by President David Beccerra to give you this letter from him to show the demands of the American people on this matter…"

Bridget spent the next half hour reading the excruciatingly specific letter from the President. Beccerra was a former marine turned lawyer, he didn't leave loopholes for anyone and knew how the military worked. The words between the lines read _don't fuck with me_, which wouldn't go well for the Chinese one bit. Xu Fong looked rather bored on the other side of the table that represented his country. He was whispering with one of his aides during the entire read and after Kavenaugh had finished, she stacked the document one last time and raised it so Fong could accept it and read for himself. She wasn't surprised when he didn't take it and said something which his aide translated.

"The Beccera regime cannot kowtow the People's Republic of China on matters that are deemed a threat to her sovereignty. The rebels on Taiwan are illegitimate and the American People spit in the face of the Chinese in recognizing them. Our patriotic brothers in the Democratic People's Republic of Korea have furthermore been subject to unfair and harsh treatment by the Beccerra regime and if further actions are taken against her, it will be the People's Republic of China and her armed forces that responds to defend the liberty of the Korean peoples. We reject this letter."

The foreign minister then leaned over, grabbed the letter, tore it in half and tossed it back to Kavenaugh. She only blinked.

"Is that your answer?"

"It is the answer of the People's Republic of China."

"Then I will need to confer with my superiors for further instructions." Kavenaugh stood up and raised her hands for shaking once again. The Chinese turned away, almost as one, and left the American delegation alone in the big room.

"Not a nice sort of folk are they?" her secretary, a black male intern from Alabama State University, noted dryly.

"Not at all." Bridget huffed and collected her things. "Let's get the word out that we need to evacuate our people, I don't want to be stuck here when this all blows over. I'll notify the President when we get back home."

* * *

><p>2000 – Seoul<p>

It technically was a _tactical withdrawal_. But for some reason Swedo couldn't help but here the word _retreat_ somewhere in there. To some of the others, especially the civilians, it would sound like _rout_. The doctors in the hospital certainly thought of it that way and their mood wasn't reflecting well on the patients.

"Get them out of here _now_!" Captain Haggs bellowed over the chitter of nurses and doctors scrambling their patients out. There were Skinny Special Forces running around somewhere inside the building, the chatter of gunfire echoed through the stairwells and corridors. Somewhere something glass crashed and a patient cried out. It was horrible, the Swedo's HUD had to be shut off temporarily, it was registering _all_ of these people as hostile. He held his rifle in one hand as he pushed a way through the horde of people attempting to leave the building. He heard one of the doctors explain frantically to the captain that they killed all the doctors they saw and had _"scaled the side of the east wing."_ Jesus the Skinnies were _that good_? How?

Swedo tried to ignore all of them but it was as if every rapid blink snapped a freeze frame full of faces, some teared, some wide eyed, some red faced, some bloody, one was being wheeled out in a gurney _while the doctors performed a running surgery_. Fuck, these were the _last _group of evacuees too. The South Koreans were falling back on all sides, from what was percolating down to the rank they just had too many troops for them all to handle. Japan was supposed to be sending forces when they could, but when would those arrive? And wasn't their fleet in Hawaii?

"_Contact tango!"_ a shout came from the hallway followed by a rattle of automatic weapons fire and the crump of a grenade.

"_Man down!"_ another cry went over the din. It sounded close, or was that just the echo.

"Move-Move!" he shoved his way through the mob, knocking over a patient in crutches but he couldn't turn and apologize. He brought his rifle up as he entered the building and saw one of his Sergeants firing blindly down the hallway. Swedo patted his helmet.

"Sir," the Sergeant barked over the noise of rounds smacking into the wall and chipping plaster off it. Fuck, if they were using big rounds they might hit the crowds flooding into the street. "Reinstin's down in the hallway, and second squad is pinned in the first room to the right, they'll need covering fire to get him."

It wasn't a question. Rangers didn't leave men behind. Swedo pulled a smoke grenade from his vest but was stayed by a hand.

"Don't bother." Bowman shook his head. "They'll just shoot through the smoke."

"Right." Swedo put it back in. The sergeant looked back at him with a questioning look. In such a confined area it didn't matter if they popped smoke here. The enemy could just spray while men ran through and it wouldn't matter.

"Two by two covering fire, Bowman take the far side of the wall and put some fire down the lane." Swedo said as the thought formulated.

"Hooah." Bowman grunted. The sergeant knelt down and Swedo stood behind him, making a firing "deck". Swedo popped out an instant before the sergeant and fired down the corridor at nothing as Bowman dashed to the far side of the T intersection. Almost immediately fire barked at them and the snap of a bullet passing close by actually grazed Swedo's cheek. He hissed and leaped back as the sergeant continued to shoot on resolute-

A wet _thwack_ followed the redlining of his vitals as the Sergeant fell forward.

"Man down!" Swedo immediately dragged him back and fumbled for the medical pouch at the back of his belt. How did it work again? Sharps first, Pain killers, then stuff for blood loss-

"I got it!" a voice said in broken English and the scrubbed doctor began to drag the sergeant by his boots.

"Wait!" Swedo jabbed a painkiller into his thigh. "I didn't see where he got hit!"

"No matter!" the doctor shook his head and gestured rapidly for another to help carry him. What surprised Swedo there was not another doctor but a _patient_ actually broke from the stream of persons to lift the wounded soldier.

"Thank you!" Swedo shouted but he didn't think the doctor heard him. He heard the boom of Bowman's own SCAR-M as he lay covering fire for the cut off squad. They passed one by one into the T and stacked on the walls to set up a covering perimeter.

"Third platoon, we're pulling out _where are you?_" Haggs voice shouted on the crosscom.

"We're covering now, make sure the civilians get out!"

"The buses are _leaving_ lieutenant, get your men out of there!"

"Sir!" Swedo complied and gestured for smoke grenades to cover the exits as the last patients got out. The rangers popped smoke behind them and dashed out the building and into the waiting armored vehicles and buses which were full of patients and doctors. The civilian convoy began streaming out and it was only when they were a mile away and the sounds of combat were only sounds that Swedo thought that maybe they had left some patients or doctors behind.

What would happen to them?

* * *

><p>0300 – CVN-1 USS Enterprise, off Wake Island.<p>

"We'll need to send our subs out first." the Australian admiral said. "We can deploy them in the Yellow Sea and begin attrition against those Chinese ships. I don't want those carriers coming into play when we arrive."

"Done." Mahan replied. "At least the American attack boats are moving. They were the first refit priorities when we made Pearl Harbor, they should get there by tomorrow. They have orders to patrol the Yellow sea and protect against Chinese attack. They'll be operating independently of course."

"Exclusion zone?" The Japanese colonel cocked his head. It was sad that the Japanese military was so undersized. They still maintained an excellent tradition particularly in their Navy and past excercises had shown them to have excellent submariners.

"Total." Mahan said. "Civilians won't be entering the area anyway if the Chinese fleet is there."

"Would it be there?" the South Korean commander was new, which was why he was sent out on this exercise. He had probably passed all of his tests with flying colors but the real world problems weren't solved by memorizing information. You had to apply it as well.

"It would be a great place for their fleet to lay up." The Australian admiral pointed out. "Its close to their ports and they'll have air cover under it, they can essentially control the entire west side of Korea and maybe even more if our comrades in the air force can't repel them. They can essentially reinforce at will with minimal cost and maximum effectiveness against us."

"I see." The Korean nodded sagely.

"I want your boats in the Sea of Japan and surrounding areas before we get there." Mahan pointed out to all of them. "The Chinese have to have deployed there already. They're not stupid and they'll want as many assets in the area as possible. We'll need to clear out their sub surface threat before we can move in safely."

"Its quite a threat, what was the last number of subs they had?" the Australian looked to Mahan.

"Thirty diesel subs and forty nuclear attack boats." The Japanese answered sourly and before Mahan could. Well the Japanese had had problems with the Chinese before now hadn't they? "Its what you call a bee hive."

"Are they good?" The south Korean asked before receiving a chuckle from all three men in the wardroom.

"The Chinese boomers are the _Xianxin_ class. A copy of the old Russian Victor and a _bad_ copy at that." The Australian chuckled. "Still, it's fast and quiet. Not too quiet so that our own boats can't detect them though. I heard your Captain Whichard the other day commenting that the Xianxin made steam noises like a cement truck backing over a dying cat."

"Did he now?" Mahan chuckled and shook his head. "We still only have about thirty total subs we can muster so we'll be outnumbered more than two to one where we're headed."

"But our men are better." The South Korean sipped his tea. "Aren't they?"

"We'll have to see when the time comes." The Japanese smiled grimly.


	11. Chapter 10

0600 – The Kangwon Bo mountain range, 30 miles north of the former DMZ

It was a hike for Witt and his Ghost team but must have seemed like a death march for the prisoners. On top of the fact that many of them were sickly, half starved, weak and unstable everyone except for the weakest and the sickest (Witt had a hard time working with the former army officer whom Park identified as "Colonel Cho" to select who the weakest actually were) had to carry as much food, water and necessities they could scrounge. And it was all done in the dead of night. They were hiking up hill, many of them without reliable footwear but somehow these people pressed on. Perhaps this was their first taste of true freedom? Witt mused. True freedom from any oppressor anyway. They were all still slaves to hunger, sickness, the elements and whatever wild animals prowled the nights. Not to mention roving Korean People's Army foot patrols that would be sure to be searching for them.

Seven hundred political prisoners simply didn't disappear off the face of the earth.

But it was Witt's job to do exactly that. He had to hide them, feed them and most importantly provide them the motivation and means to take back their homes and overthrow that man in pajamas that lived in Pyongyang. He would turn these people into ghosts and yet something more than that. He would turn them into boogeymen, phantoms, banshees that struck out in the night and terrorized the Korean People's Army and brought food to the people. That was the war Witt knew how to fight. It was a mixture of tactical choices and psychological decisions.

But the war would have to wait. They'd spotted a nook in the mountain ranges that emerged into a valley that was heavily wooded. It was a nice place to set up shop. Long had gone down alone to scout and after reporting the all clear, they began hoisting their supplies down. Witt had come to learn how to improvise with his tools very quickly, and the splintered wood from the concentration camp, wire, ropes, steel bowls - anything would be useful here. The sickest and frailest would be lowered down last while the others dropped down to the mud forest and took their breather. Witt looked around and liked what he saw. It would be a good place indeed. All seven hundred would be easily hidden here although the place would be very cramped. Food might be a problem, but Long said there was a brook that ran right down the middle and trailed down from a mountain. As long as they didn't bathe upstream they would have a good source of water.

Witt chose a rotted log for himself to sit down on – he found at once that it was covered with bugs so he used his cigar lighter to chase them away. It was good to get off his feet for a little while as the other men and women – hell even some kids – climbed down into the valley. Long strode up, shouldered his rifle and sat down across from Witt with Park.

"It's a good place to stay." Witt said. "Clean water, good overhead cover and camouflage, the only thing I don't like is that we're surrounded if they decide to take the cliffs. We'd be fighting out of a bowl if shit really hit the fan."

"It's the best we can do for now." Long shrugged.

"How are the others holding up?" Witt looked at Park who shrugged as well.

"As well as they can, some of them seem to think they've traded one hell for the next. First being a prisoner and then clawing for their lives in the wilderness isn't a good transition. But they seem to like us enough not to kill us."

"Sounds good. How's Cho?"

"He's a real leader." Park nodded. "and the others respect him. He's got experience behind him and he's good at organizing things. Puts himself first and they like that."

"I like that too." Witt nodded. "Is he willing to work with us though?"

"He's obviously got to look out for his people." Long said. "We need to make them see that this place is worth fighting for if we're going to make an army out of them."

"They know they'll be defending their families and themselves when it comes down to it." Park said. "That has a lot of weight behind it."

"What does Cho think?"

"He thinks its enough. But the numbers don't look good for us. If we ration right we've got a week of food and water, no shelter and seven hundred starving mouths to feed."

"We'll need to worry about their survival before we shape them up." Witt pinched the bridge of his nose. "People can't fight if they're hungry."

"Michael's checking out the stream." Long pointed out. "We might be able to fish a little there, and there are a couple goats in the mountains. We could raid cities – "

"Not smart, we're here to liberate them, not make them terrorists." Witt rebutted.

"Right." Long shrugged.

"Speaking of fighting," Sullivan emerged from the woods and tossed a skinny thing that Witt almost didn't think was a fish onto the floor. It was maybe the length of his hand but it looked like it was all bone. "How many of them can fight? It didn't look good."

"Out of all of them twenty have combat training, and another ten have mentioned that they'd like to fight."

"Thirty out of the full seven hundred?" Witt repeated to make sure he had it right. Park nodded. Witt had at least expected seventy to fight and now he didn't even have half of that number.

"They have families." Park said and then eyed the still wriggling fish warily. It gasped for water and flopped in the mud. "What kind of fish is that?"

"Mackerel." Sullivan said.

"Mackerel's a salt water fish." Long said.

"Fresh water Mackerel." Sullivan said.

"Back to the point." Witt snapped his fingers. "thirty isn't a lot. Can we arm them?"

"We've got plenty of that." Sullivan shrugged as Long hacked off the fish's head with his Tomahawk. Witt hadn't known Long carried one. It seemed an oddly brutal thing for a precision sniper to be carrying around him.

"Three dozen AK 47 with six boxes of ammunition, six RPGS, thirteen RPD light machine guns, a bunch of those RPK heavy MGs we ripped out of the camp, a split crate load of those old potato masher grenades and a couple hand cannons."

"What's a hand cannon?" Park asked.

"Makarov pistol." Long said. "Fires a big seven six two round."

"Point is we've got plenty to defend ourselves with." Witt said. "But that isn't the point of this. We're here to get these people fighting and I'm not saying all of them because nobody wants to see grannie shooting up people but we can do better than thirty plus us."

"Got it." Park said.

"They'll like us better if we can get them more food. You think we can get a call through to command to see if they can air drop us stuff?" Long asked.

"We'll have to see." Witt nodded. "It wouldn't hurt."

Witt couldn't shake the feeling that there was something different about Long, that he wasn't leveling up to the Ghosts completely. He remembered his dossier had a lot of sharpie black marks on it, obscuring different operations. That was normal for a Ghost but Long seemed to have far more than the usual number of black operations under his belt. Just who was this squad's sniper?

And why did he seem so comfortable with attacking noncombatant targets for resources?

* * *

><p>0600 – Vladivostock<p>

Agent Blanco sipped her coffee once again. She'd struck gold at the army base; the Russians had never noticed that she'd slipped a hidden camera into a bush. The quality wasn't great, and the Russians were supposed to have some of the best wireless cyberdefences in the world but there was nothing that could protect them from good old fashioned low tech cameras.

The pin hole camera that Blanco had placed in the bush was an old fashioned black and white camera from the 1960s and was only the size of a button, but who would notice a tiny all plastic camera that did not catch glare and matched the green bush leaves? The concrete wall was a joke to scale, it was barely seven feet high and the barbed wire was old. It took a quick jump in her purple jogging pants and tennis shoes to grab the ledge and then hop down on the other side where she jogged casually to the bush to pick up the camera-

"Stop!" A voice commanded in Russian and an armed soldier strode up to her. She put on a goofy grin and waved jauntily.

"How did you get here? Do you have a pass?" The soldier hadn't unslung his rifle yet but by the way his weight was shifted slightly to his toes meant that he was ready for this stranger to pull a fast one. Blanco was supposed to put him at ease if she was going to get away with her camera. She pulled her second piece of disguising out of her jacket.

"Sorry!" She said in as high pitched of a tone as possible. She might as well have been squeaking. "it flew over the thing so I just _had_ to get it." She held up a frisbee. Blanco hoped she still looked young enough to be a silly university student otherwise this would look really stupid.

"You climbed over the wall?" the soldier raised an eyebrow.

"I do track at the university." Blanco said and slipped a wireless headphone into her ear and began bobbing her head to an imaginary beat. "High jump. Lions number one _yeah!_"

"Okay, okay." The soldier chuckled and muttered something about the wall not being secure enough at all. "Look I'll have to take you to Sergeant Glokov so we can get you sorted out and then you'll be on your way again."

"And I get to keep the Frisbee right?" Blanco began to follow the soldier who now had a slight spring in his step to match hers. It was incredible how acting stupid and confident could put people at ease.

"As long as you aren't an American spy." The soldier chuckled again. The laughter came easily to Blanco. They passed by a dome structure in the middle of the base as troopers came back from their morning excercises. So many fit men and women were here, Blanco noted.

"What's that thing?" Blanco pointed at the dome. "There is something like that at the university but I've never had the time to ask what it was."

"That's our satellite Uplink facility." The soldier said absentmindedly as they turned a corner into a concrete structure. "It keeps us in link with all our satellite and advanced systems. Also it boosts the range of your own cell phone too."

"Like this one?" Blanco held out her phone and grinned. It was a dummy phone, sugary pink and a charm on the end of it.

"That is a Japanese model." The Soldier noted. "Might as well be American."

"Is it? I think the Japanese make lovely phones." Blanco smiled.

"They cannot beat a good Russian model in my opinion." The soldier said and held the door open for Blanco. "I did not know you had something like our Uplink at the university. I graduated there a few years back."

A university graduate at an army base? Definitely a Spetsnaz man, Blanco concluded. Her eyes brushed over the crest on his shoulder which incidentally looked completely normal.

"Perhaps it is not that. I haven't had time to ask."

"The biodome perhaps?"

"Yes! That is it!" Blanco noted that the soldier had stopped and gestured to the next set of doors.

"The sergeant is inside, I will tell him that you were collecting your frisbee and you will be on your way. If you please." He reached his hand out for the Frisbee which Blanco gave readily while the button camera jingled in her pants pocket.

"Thank you." The soldier went in and a moment later came back out and brushed her to the official exit. He gave her a slight reprimand about simply asking one of the men up front to go collect her toy (they would be happy to do it, after all each soldier is a servant of the people) and sent her to the metal detector. She placed all of her things, including the button camera onto the metal tray and with a flick of the finger placed her cell phone on top of the camera so the wiring would become obscured by the X-ray scanner and they would never be able to tell the two apart.

With that trial over, Blanco almost skipped away – then decided to skip away anyway. The soldier was probably watching and he was kind of cute.


	12. Chapter 11

0100 – Washington D.C.

He'd stayed up all night discussing the war with his Chiefs of Staff. The entire Korean Theater was on a holodisplay on the coffee table right in the Oval office and Deborah, the other secretary was kind enough to stay overnight (at least Becerra liked to think of it as a nice favor. So what if it was her job?) and keep him and his Chiefs' fully fueled on coffee, tea and Advil for the headaches that had come about half an hour ago.

The Atlantic theater and its strike fleet were chugging away towards Iceland. It was a big task to take, the submarine fleet Becerra had heard were already making headway against the Europeans. That display had been reviewed at the start of this meeting at 2000 and finished in half an hour after a quick meeting with the Secretary of Treasury and Secretary of Energy to make sure they had enough ethanol to fight a war on two fronts. Two long wars on two fronts. It would keep them strained, they would have to ration their fuel to save for synthesizing. The harvest that year had been particularly good, and trade with the other NAFTA countries were flourishing particularly the corn harvest had yielded well, so there was plenty of Ethanol fuel to fund the attacks on both Iceland and the units in Korea but not enough to keep them fueled at such a long distance. Becerra would have to discuss that in his cabinet meeting the next morning. Europe would have to fall first, they were a much more real threat than the Russians. The European Federation had their orbital THEL satellites that had already been proven to work in the United States.

What had taken from 2030 to now was the problem in the Korean theater.

"The PANTO force would definitely relieve our men in Korea, but how would they fair against the Chinese once they move their units in place?" General Hudson Air Force pondered.

"We can lick the Chinese with anything they throw at us." Admiral Averly replied. "The newest sub they can throw at us is the _Taido Xong_ class which they ripped off of the Russian _Akula_. Its nowhere near what our Virginia boomers can do and latest numbers are they only rolled the second one off production last week. Their carriers aren't too great either, maybe four jump carriers that they have to keep together if they want to protect them. Otherwise they'll spread those units out and risk us picking them off one by one. They might think they have total control of their waters but our sub drivers know their stuff and I'm sure they could put a dent in their morale there."

"There have already been penetrating raids done by their fighter force. Nothing too substantial but its perked our ears." Hudson pointed out. "No casualties, just probing the lines."

"We can still air lift troops then." Becerra said. He'd already activated the civilian merchant air fleet – the government seized control of all planes (which were all funded partially by the state department anyway and therefore partially owned by the government) and were lifting army units into Japan which would then be sent to Korea where they were needed. It was a dreadfully inefficient way to deploy. The Japanese were wasting resources deploying fighters to protect them, and while the North Koreans wouldn't throw anything their way, the Chinese and their new J-20 Black Silk fighter that had just come to full production had enough range to strike two hundred miles off Japan and slip away under the stealth coating.

Becerra kept forgetting that nobody was officially at war with China yet. Kavenaugh had mentioned in her report that they were beginning to pull every American out of there and Becerra wished them luck. The closest hope they could make was a warzone in Korea, or the almost warzone of Taiwan.

"If the Chinese decide to reinforce the North Koreans by land," General Armstrong pointed at the northern border between China and Korea, "They'd have to heighten up their border guards. We think they could send an extra six million troops in theater if they want to keep their Russian, India and Mongolia borders at full strength."

Becerra did the math and didn't like that he would only have a total seven hundred thousand PANTO troops to throw at ten million. From the look on Armstrong's face he'd read Becerra's mind.

"It'll be a funnel at least. As long as our air force is able to keep them from air dropping units and our Navy keeps them from landing."

"No word from the Russians on it?" Admiral Hudson asked.

"Other than the denouncement of North Korea and China by proxy? None." Becerra said. He hadn't even received an informal request from President Kapalkins administration about these matters. Didn't Russia realize how big of a sphere the United States still projected into the East?

Maybe they did, and that was why they weren't talking to him.

"Our men can do whatever you ask them to Mr. President," General Mitchel, Joint Strike Force, said with every trace of confidence that radiated from his hard won rank. "even face down a few million with nothing but sticks and stones."

It was a different matter for them to succeed at that. Becerra noted that privately to himself while he popped another Advil into his mouth and stared at the cool blue holodisplay that was bathed in red as enemy units began moving in simulated invasion strategies.

* * *

><p>1700 – Yellow Sea<p>

"_Rogue lead, Oddball, we show unknown radar tracks entering your zone at two seven five. Change your bearing to two seven five and walk ID."_

"Roger." Cotugno flexed his cramped neck and turned west, into the sun which the mirrored HUD lenses never completely blotted out. "Rogues."

"Two." "Three." "Four."

The F-22 raptor banked left and slipped through the sound barrier as Cotugno hit supercruise and illuminated his air intercept radar. Four contacts merged into eight immediately each heading straight towards them at eight hundred knots. Enough speed for short range fighters laden down with missiles or bombs.

He flipped his radar off then, just a peek for his quick eyes to scan and for the computer to flash their positions on his Heads Up Display before disappearing back into the realm of stealth once again. He wasn't armed heavily enough for a dogfight, five hundred rounds in the Vulcan, a single AIM-10 Quarrel and a Joint Strike Munition in the second weapons bay.

"_Thirty miles out Rogue. Coming up on you in thirty seconds._" Oddball reported.

Cotugno didn't acknowledge but flexed the gloved hand to loosen it around the throttle. There they were, grey flecks over the blue sunlit water. Single engine type fighters from the size of their jetwash that was apparent and rippling even this far out. Did the Chinese still use those old engines? They had to be Chinese of course, they were coming from the west.

"Oddball, Rogue Lead: Tallyho, counting eight bogeys of single engine type, going CBDR."

"_Cock your pistol, Rogue."_

"Roger. Three and Four, keep in the clouds. Two on me, we're going to take their six o'clock and flash them."

Cotugno dove his raptor toward the low flying single engine craft, definitely the J-10 Dragon (he'd heard somewhere that the official name was Annihilator, but the PANTO name for it was the Dragon) and quickly pulled out of it aided by the F-22's advanced thrust vectoring system to slot neatly behind the fighters at a range of 800 meters, where the orange afterburners flashed hot in the evening son. Cotugno opened a channel in the clear and illuminated his radar, setting his HUD sights on the leader of the eight man formation.

"Incoming fighters, this is Rogue Leader of the United States Air Force, you have now entered restricted air space, turn around on your previous vector or we will use deadly force."

The enemy fighters reacted immediately blooming and separating like flower petals caught in a draft. They were well disciplined and kept to two plane elements. Cotugno settled for the leader. It didn't look like this one would end well.

"Lookout, bogeys look like they're up for a scrap. Make them Juliet ten Dragons."

"_Hang tight Rogue, we're vectoring a flight towards you now. ETA six mikes._"

This all might be over in six minutes. Cotugno hauled back on the stick to follow the leader in a climb as his eyes flicked left and right to watch his wingmate and another pair climb in different directions. It was a slight problem with the F-22 raptor that there weren't many at all. It was nice that the Air Force always trained raptor pilots to be outnumbered but it didn't matter this close up. He was in a knife fight with a polearm.

"Watch it lead, two coming on your six." Rogue two warned as he flashed in Cotugno's vision and disappeared between blinks with two other fighters angling in on him. Nobody had fired on the other yet, it was all a battle of maneuvering, seeing who could get the upper hand and force a surrender in this aerial duel. A third fighter interposed himself in Cotugno's flight path suddenly and forced a vector change by him, Cotugno ducked his fighter under the Dragon and inverted as his target attempted to pull a fast one, he followed it in a Split S with the ocean rushing towards him.

"One's still on you lead." Rogue two said. Cotugno kicked his fighter high and right while ruddering to keep him in line with his own target. He could have locked the fighter in and been done with it a long time ago, but there were rules of engagement to not blow him out of the sky without getting shot at first.

"I'm still offensive." Cotugno replied and followed the bandit in a sharp bank right. It was easy for him and the raptor; the pilot had to be pulling an eight G turn. For Cotugno it was more like a single G thanks to his flight suit that bled G forces out and around him-

-the launch alarm wailed –

"Devil!" Cotugno immediately dove for the ocean, firing flares that burned down in the water behind him. It was a mistake that could cost him, not paying attention to the keening tone that meant his opponent was seeking a heat seeker lock and he'd fired. "I'm defensive-"

"Good tone!" Rogue three shouted "Fox three!"

"_Rogue, get out of there; vector zero nine zero and scram! Shadow flight, weapons are free –"_

"_Good tone – "_

Cotugno checked his rearview mirror to see the smoke trail of the missile fall away to chase one of the flares and he hit the afterburners. Cotugno raced as far away from the fight as possible, shutting down all of his systems to become perfectly stealthy again as he climbed for cloud cover. Behind him, six fighters that swirled around flashed and became puffs of smoke and two others dove for the sea trailing flares and chaff behind him.

"All okay?" Cotugno said, surprised to find that he was breathless.

"Two here."

"Three good."

"Four's good."

Everyone had come out alive. That was good news, and there were at least six Chicomms dead now-

That was something that struck Cotugno like a splash of ice water. He'd just participated in the firing of first shots between two major superpowers. Maybe he'd get to fight the Black Silk after all. Cotugno flew east, away from the setting sun and away from the land of the last Red Army.


	13. Chapter 12

2000 – Yellow Sea

The ocean waves, black under the night, flashed briefly and sparkled with the sound of cruise missiles screeching overhead. Low flying, fast, accurate and deadly, Chinese YP-900 ship to land missiles swarmed like locusts toward the Korean Penninsula. There were ninety missiles targeting three different bases, two air ports and one a tank refueling and ammunition dump close to the west coast. A second flock of missiles behind it were individually targeted at power plants and radar stations that had been pinpointed by satellite imagery from years before.

They came low, flying at a level height of a thousand feet as they navigated the waves all the way to the beach. The night was calm and the peace over the Yellow Sea was only interrupted by the firing of nearly two hundred missiles.

The missiles had advanced tracking warheads with a GPS accuracy of five meters. Needless though, some warhead brains became confused, unable to compute and match its positions with the overhead satellite and six tumbled into the black depths. The others continued on their courses.

They passed the outer radar net, the land based bulge radars unable to pick up units flying so low. It was the Korean coast guard, running anti submarine patrols along the coast that spotted the missiles' radar tracks first and sent flash warnings to their command where it percolated amongst the bases.

On call fighter pilots and engineers scrambled to their planes all over South Korea and after only two minutes the first strike planes were rolling off the runways.

Three dozen fighters were already aloft but the AWACs on station at the time was busy directing close air support to cover the retreat from Seoul. Four F-15 Slam Eagles were in the area first, spotting the missiles visually by their orange afterburner trails. The missiles flew by too quickly to aquire, a Mach 6 weapon could appear and disappear between blinks.

When the missiles reached their targets, they opened their bays to disgorge bomblets, each with enough explosive power to penetrate tank hulls and render a runway completely useless with car sized craters. After that, each missile nosed up, stalled and slammed into the earth, adding their own fuel and shrapnel to the devastation. The air bases and tank depot were savaged, and black outs rolled over all of the Republic of Korea. One missile dropped its payload over a highway congested with refugees, killing hundreds and wounding even more.

Chinese fighters were right behind those missiles, all the strike craft from bases around Beijing, Chengdo, Xanjin raced toward South Korea to exploit the devestation. Korean and American pilots, angry with the loss of their bases were now joined by Japanese fighters who had lifted off once the Republic of Korea had notified Tokyo of the Chinese attack. American fighters that lifted off from Japan lagged sorely behind those that raced off to engage the incoming Chinese. The aerial ballet began again, with both sides aircraft supported now by AWACs controllers as well as sea and land based radar coverage, squadrons raced forward and flirted back goading each other to commit to battle. Both sides escalated the size of their fighter forces quickly. The PANTO forces had deployed five hundred attack aircraft, their full compliment of fighters. The Chinese threw eight hundred to the fray. The scene was set for a massive air engagement.

* * *

><p>2000 – Yellow sea now codenamed AREA OF OPERATIONS YANKEE - USS <em>Oregon<em>

"Weak signal on the D band." Lieutenant Yesti from the Sonar station "Evaluate possible submarine contact bearing two eight three."

Captain Evan Portman took three quick strides from the attack center into the curtain covered sonar station to check on the computers. He plugged in a pair of headphones and listened to the feed that Yesti had isolated.

"Towed array is retracted sir." Yesti said as his rating, a sailor named Jacobs continued to stare at the screen. With the towed array fully housed, there wasn't much chance anyone could hear the flow noises from a metal object trailing behind them.

"Keep on it." Portman clapped Yesti on the shoulder and walked back to the attack center which was lit a soothing blue by the overhead lights. USS Oregon, a _Virginia_ class nuclear attack submarine, was slinking in Chinese waters at twenty five knots, the maximum silent running speed of the ship. Portman had never fired war shots before, although he'd had plenty of practice from excercises. He had graduated fifth in his class at Anapolis and he'd been driving _Oregon_ and her crew for a good ten months now. He'd come to know how his crew reacted almost as if they were extensions of himself.

Portman was _USS Oregon_. That was how he had learned to fight his submarine.

"Executive, pursue contact." Portman ordered.

"Ahead one third, make your heading two seven zero, make your depth sixteen hundred." Portman let the XO, an old salt called Griffin, take Oregon down just above the thermal layer to level her off and pursue the contact.

"Conn, Sonar," the overhead intercom blared. "Probable submarine contact on previous bearing. Returns are getting stronger."

"Sonar Conn aye." Portman didn't feel the need to rub his eyes even though he'd been on duty for twelve hours now. He was in enemy waters, invisible and ready to strike. The enemy was invisible too, and Portman stopped every once in awhile to check if something was creeping up behind him.

"Conn, Sonar, evaluate previous contact as twin screw subsurface vessel." Yesti always sounded excited when he picked out enemy flow noises from the rushing water around them. "Transients, transients, I'm getting faint steam noises now. Designating contact Yankee one."

"Its an older model if we can hear the generator noises." The XO told Portman who nodded and waited for a further report. "And not many but the bigger boats have two screws on them."

"That's what I was thinking." Portman nodded. "The _Akula_ class doesn't have two screws on it. So it's going to be a missile boat."

A passing sailor turned his head ever so slightly at that note as he went to relieve a man at the fore of the sub. Missile boats, by definition were supposed to be the quietest ships in the Navy. What was the point of being able to shower your opponent with a dozen nuclear warheads if they found and killed you first? Portman went over to the ELF hot printer and reprinted the file he had received via FLASHCOM.

TO: ACTUAL SSN – 791

FROM: COMSUBPAC

ENCRYPTION FEED******

DECRYPTION KEY ****

UPON RECEIVING MSG X EQT SADOP X SUBSURFACE FORCES ARE TO BEGIN SEARCH AND DESTROY OPERATIONS IN THEIR IMMEDIATE AO PRIORITIZING WITH SSBN THREATS AND SUBSURFACE FORCES X ROE TAC BRAVO

Rules of engagement TACTICAL BRAVO was authorized here. Portman could shoot at military vessels only. That was, until the US decided to take the gloves off so he could shoot at merchantmen. He wondered what the effect a Mark 48 ADCAP torpedo would have on an unarmored and laden down freighter like he had seen off of Los Angeles?

"X, keep your distance from her. Make it a seven thousand datum. Head up to periscope depth in an hour. I'll be in my quarters."

"Aye cap'n." Griffen nodded. "I'll keep you posted."

Portman stalked out of the Conn to the midships. The galley had been stocked with fresh lettuce after their sprint from Pearl Harbor and Portman wanted to get the last of it before the war.

* * *

><p>2000 – Vladivostok<p>

It wasn't the right time of month for these pictures to go sour. She'd had a terrible headache on the way back from the base, the film she was using to develop was _expensive_ and it had taken several batches of chemicals to figure out how to get a dark room working. The internet in Russia was incredibly unhelpful for those who needed to develop more _traditional_ pictures from an old pinhole camera.

Then she realized that there was a light leak in her dark room (being the living room) that came from her _computer_ and Blanco was so pissed at having to re-cover all the windows, cover the computer, shut off the lights, and remix all the chemicals which took another _day_ to do that she was regretting she had ever used this old 1960s camera in the first place and probably should have decided that a digital was good enough. She could have gotten into the base, she knew she could but to stay inside was a bigger risk especially with the base on full alert because of the war in Korea. But she could have done it, her entire job was a big risk. She was just being _lazy_ by using that camera.

This wasn't even the beginning of it either. The first batch of photo paper proved to be too light sensitive and wasn't registered for the Camera's slow film speed and so once she took her first photo out to observe the results in blackened right before her eyes. She hadn't realized that she should have made test strips. She might as well have flushed two hundred rubles down the drain. So she had to go out_ again_ to get _another_ batch of expensive photo paper. Even with that, with her shots finally coming out to their best quality (the film enlarger had been an absolute _bitch _to rent too. It was so old it almost fell apart, the cover had to be screwed back on, the light bulb and contrast had to be replaced and it was forty fucking pounds. How did anyone shoot _without_ a digital camera?) she had discovered the film to be scratched in some parts.

She almost threw everything through the window, glass and all.

Christ, she was choking up on these little things right now. Women were said to often make the best spies because everyone expected a handsome devil of a man, not an average girl to be the one that stole government secrets. There were plenty of spy movies out by now that featured busty heroines and plenty of guns and explosions to back up their own package.

They never did mention that they would get shut down by a monthly cycle. Blanco huffed in frustration as she checked her final shots of the base again then she scanned them into her computer and waited the hour required for it to download and email back to Sam Fisher at the NSA.

Her living room was a black mess of damp cloth that smelled like bad Mexican food now, courtesy of the photo developer and stop bath. It would take weeks and a few cans of aerosol at least to get the smell out. Her water and electricity bill must have skyrocketed in the past days. Who cares? What was another thousand rubles that she didn't have because the NSA didn't pay her to live luxuriously here?

She tore down the black covers over her windows to let in the lights of Vladivostock and its night life. There were probably thousands of Russians out there enjoying themselves because their country's economy was booming right now. There was one American here, huddled in the dark of her living room, almost on the verge of tears because her pictures hadn't been coming out right for the past three days. Blanco found the camera and set it by the window. She took a hammer to it and scraped the remains off the ledge so that it fell all six stories down to the concrete sidewalk.


	14. Chapter 13

2100 – AO YANKEE

"Fuck me…" Cotugno breathed into the flight mask. His raptor had come back off of patrol in the eastern sector of Korea (as if the skinnies had anything there) and now after forty five precious minutes of refueling he was up aloft on the other side of the country, staring at what had to be the entire Chinese air force barely a hundred miles away. Automatically his HUD began tagging enemies at the edge of the radar which appeared so bunched up that it was a wall of red.

"What was that lead?" Rogue three asked. " Didn't copy last."

Cotugno ignored him for the moment and switched to the Crosscom channel that had every squadron leader and AWACs communicating with each other.

"Watchtower, Rogue is on station now."

"_Good to hear you Rogue. Welcome to the wild west."_ The flight director chuckled grimly. "_Enemy bandits are two seven zero angels ten. Count them eight hundred plus. I'll say that again, bandits number eight zero zero."_

"Fuck!" Cotugno snorted. Raptor pilots had always been taught that they would be outnumbered in an aerial fight, but this was _ridiculous_.

"_Rogue, we're going to need you at grid seven two with Dagger and Talon flight. Come about to one eight zero."_

"Solid copy all." Cotugno banked his fighter left and kept his fighter flying at six hundred knots, a slow and leisurely cruise. To his right, he saw orange flashes in the night. A dozen twin engine fighters, outlined in blue for friendlies, streaked forward toward the swarm of red and held course for fifteen seconds. Cotugno thought that he had missed the weapons free order for a moment and then the blue tagged friendlies pulled out of their feint and circled back.

"_Rogue, cycle down two channels. We'll be squawking with you all on that freq. Your call sign is now red group."_

"Solid copy." Cotugno said and he slotted himself in the racetrack patterns that the other two twelve man squadrons were flying. His HUD told him these friendlies were both American and made up of F-35s and F-15 Silent Eagles.

"_Good to see you Rogue._" The crosscom identified the squadron leader of Dagger.

"You too Dagger." Cotugno said as he began the lazy turns at six hundred knots. "Why haven't the Chinese attacked yet?"

"_Chicomms have tried at higher altitudes but we've put screens high and low. Spread us all out some. Them stealth fighters show up real nice on our radars once they hit forty miles." _Talon leader said. _"but that only works on our fighter radars."_

Cotugno didn't need to understand that the tactical situation for defense wasn't good. True they could pick up the enemy J-20 stealth fighters at ranges of forty miles with a fighter based radar, but that meant that their biggest advantage of a Big Bulge radar was greatly reduced. Chancing on something like that didn't happen often this early in _any_ war.

"Are we going to head in soon?"

"_Watchtower has us waiting for something. It better hurry, a few of us are practically bingo here."_ Dagger groused. Cotugno could understand that. He'd arrived into this zone with full tanks, some of these had been aloft for four hours and had to be at the edge of their time.

"Look, there they go again." Rogue two said as another dozen fighters, this time from above feinted sixty miles toward the enemy and broke off abruptly-

"_Trumpeter, trumpeter, trumpeter – enemy tankers have been tagged. Blue group, make your run straight down the middle. Red group you're above four thousand and behind."_ Lookout said suddenly. "_Blue: count to twenty and break off. Red: you're going in all the way. Splash me some fuelers."_

"_Fuckin' A, it's about time."_ Dagger lead growled. Cotugno could agree with him. It was a clever idea. The Chinese air force used very similar tactics to the US and therefore would expect them to attack the AWACs craft immediately. All those defenses converged around it, attacks against it even in a stealth fighter like the F-22 Raptor was completely useless. Now Cotugno understood the business about these feints. A dozen fighters would streak forward and blast them with their forward radars, waiting to detect tracks that were too big to be fighters and too slow to be an AWACs controller. Fuel tankers for hungry fighters.

"Rogues, we're going in, take her up ten thousand feet and keep your radars off. On me."

"Two.""Three.""Four."

Twenty eight fighters climbed up into the clouds while another two dozen fighters, Japanese Mitsubishi F-2s like the smaller cousin of the F-16, and Korean F-15 Slam Eagles, raced forward from below. New figures began becoming tagged and outlined in red in Cotugno's HUD and when they flashed yellow, they became priority targets as directed by the crosscom controller in the AWACs.

Blue group broke off of their feint down below but Cotugno and red group's twenty eight stealth fighters continued on course. Cotugno wondered if the same problems the J-20 had with fighter radars would repeat on the F-22. It wouldn't be pleasant getting caught in the hornets nest here.

"_Looks like a full group of tankers. Sixteen of them."_ Dagger said.

"_Escorts?"_ Talon asked.

"_No visual yet."_

"We'll take the ones on the far right," Cotugno said. "You guys go middle and left?"

"_Sounds good Rogue. Good hunting."_

"Rogue, come right two eight zero and hold steady."

"Two.""Three."Four."

AS they began to close with the enemy, the tag outlines became clearer and clearer. More fighters became tagged on Cotugno's HUD so that what looked like eight hundred planes really was many many more. The enemy jamming had only been partially successful to the powerful US built radars but it was still formidable enough to blot out some of the craft behind them. Cotugno didn't even know if Watchtower would be able to hear him this close to the enemy "lines."

"About sixty miles to target." Rogue three reminded them. "Time on target, one mike."

"Let's get them at twenty miles so we make sure they don't get away." Rogue four said.

"Good idea, we do one each and break off. Ignore the escorts." Cotugno said.

"WILCO." The others replied. Apparently another feint had been launched because another dozen fighters that hadn't been there before became tagged, along with another tanker. Jesus there were a lot of these fighters over such a confined air space. It was like watching swarms of bees go at it.

"Lead, I think we've got company. Looks like a full dozen coming below and behind." Rogue two said urgently.

"Go loud." Cotugno said and he flipped on his air search radar and opened his missile bay to reveal an AIM-10 Quarrel which screeched with a solid lock on his target. The tanker's bulk at a distance was cleverly jammed and now with Cotugno's radar activated at such close proximity, another eight fighters were immediately tagged. Four of them trailed behind the tanker at a leisurely pace – they were refueling –

"Good tone, Fox three!" Cotugno shouted and squeezed the trigger, then shut his missile bay door and kept his radar trained. The AIM-10, with all its advanced tracking capabilities, still needed to be directed by his own radar, it wasn't a fire and forget seeker like the Joint Strike Munition. It took until twenty miles to lock on and with eight other targets in such close proximity, Cotugno might have the missile hit the wrong target –

The missile leaped off of its railings and burst in white exhaust flame as it shot forward, searing red in Cotugno's eyelids as he closed them to protect from the flash –

* * *

><p>The other eight fighters immediately scrambled to action, breaking off of their escort patterns and flipping on their radars as the tanker called that it had taken a radar lock and incoming missile. Two of the fighters it had been refueling immediately broke off without waiting for proper fuel shut off, and the Chinese tanker began trailing fluid from two lines. The other two were slower off the mark and were still connected to the tanker when the missile struck-<p>

* * *

><p>Cotugno had immediately yanked hard on the stick to climb up and away from the squadron at his six which was seeking locks on his tiny radar signature. The way his top was positioned he would give a decent radar return but that would change in the space of half a second because the thrust vectoring system tightened his turn so that he was facing directly toward the enemy and he disappeared from radar. They were coming in close, almost in gun range –<p>

"Tallyho! Guns guns guns-"

* * *

><p>-The Quarrel hit the tanker dead center – there was no escape for a craft that was already struggling to keep aloft. The explosion ignited the fuel lines and fire trailed onto two J-10s which were refueling. A massive fireball engulfed all three fighters and a third which could have gotten off clean was heavily damaged. The other four fighters were almost out of fuel, they couldn't pursue the raptor which had swatted their lifeline so carelessly out of the air. They immediately turned and headed for land, guided by their AWACs controller so that hopefully they could crash somewhere safe. Ten tankers suffered similar fates around the Chinese air force destroying another sixteen aircraft and preventing dozens more from refueling.<p>

Angry for the losses, the Chicomm AWACS planes began directing fighters on retribution hunts for the PANTO stealth fighters which had so boldly attacked them-

* * *

><p>The PANTO AWACS craft noted immediately the shift in the enemy force as their center line milled and turned to the rear to search for needles in the haystack. The AWACS began sounding off that the enemy was vulnerable and committed the entire PANTO air group to the attack. The group commanders responded eagerly –<p>

-_"…Say again all fighters: weapons free weapons free on all bandits angels twenty at two seven zero" – _

"_Good tone Good tone, Fox three Fox three!"_

Five hundred radar guided missiles, locked in with the AWACs computer systems, rippled toward the Chicomm aerial lines. The Chinese responded with a volley of their own, but only had two hundred fighters quick enough to respond. What occurred now was a race for time. The American built Quarrels and AMRAMs flew at Mach 8 speeds and were computer linked by their AWACs controllers. The Chinese missiles were much slower and required the pilots to keep their noses pointed toward their targets.

The results on the Chinese were devastating. The Chinese, unable to turn evasively because they were pointing their radars, took the full force of the missile volley which obliterated almost three quarters of their number in an instant. The Chinese missiles which suddenly lost guidance from their own radars went into automatic tracker mode and homed in on the return signals of the remaining Chinese radars. A two dozen PANTO fighters were dismayed to discover they had a hundred missiles locked on. They all dove for the sea spewing flares behind them but there were too many missiles. Eight ejected safely, the rest were disintegrated in fireballs.

* * *

><p>The remaining Chinese fighters – screamed at by their AWACS controllers – turned to orient at the PANTO fighters who had already fired a second volley and were readying a third. Without proper locks, many Chicomms were able to disengage and begin evasive maneuvers – coached by their AWACs craft and sea borne radars – many were successful although the occasional missile was able to break through combined decoys and jamming. But the radical evasive maneuvers had put a strain on their engines and as a group they all turned and ran to refuel. The remaining Chinese fighter compliment of 600 didn't notice 28 black shapes slip between their lines and head towards Korea. Red group had their running lights turned off and their speed very slow so as to not create an orange trail in the night. Cotugno wondered if the fighters he had killed with the tanker would count? He'd have to bring that up with the base commander to discover and then the red paint could be applied to bring his score up to Ace.<p> 


	15. Chapter 14

0700 Kangwong Bo mountain range.

They were all getting hungry. Witt hadn't ever had seven hundred mouths to feed, much less three meals a day. It was only when Cho had pulled him aside ( with Park translating) that everyone would be happy with even _two_ square meals a day. The North Koreans didn't eat much because of the recent famines. Cho was actually surprised that Witt actually ate three meals a day.

That bothered him a little.

Aside from the original dozen, there were at least eight others who had professed a willingness to fight. Witt took that as a good sign, his little guerilla force was beginning to grow. Witt had to be perfectly honest with the Koreans though, he was trying to get them to fight for his country.

"We do not fight for your country." Cho had said through Park. "But for ourselves and our families. We do not ask for your help, we will fight either way."

They practiced with what little ammunition they could spare, Witt hadn't received any supply drops thus far. According to SOCCOM, things were getting harrier up in the skies. Word was that the Chinese were fighting them now. That was super. The former army folks (almost all of the men had served at one point, although few were willing to go back to that lifestyle it seemed) brought their weapons up with well practiced hands and put shots down at tree stump targets seventy five meters down range. Witt strode up and down the line with Cho close behind and when he stopped a man because he wasn't using his relaxing properly, he was surprised that Cho pulled Witt aside to berate him for it.

"They still don't trust us." Park shrugged. "And they think you're arrogant for thinking you are better than him."

"But I'm _right_." Witt objected. "So what if I'm better, that's what I'm here to do. To help them get better. He white knuckles the trigger and that seriously throws off his aim."

After a moment of conversing in Korean, Park relayed Cho's answer:

"He says Koreans are a strong people who will take care of themselves. They have no need of help from foreigners because they do not know their ways." Park shrugged. "he says that _advice_ is welcome, but not correcting."

Witt thought about that for a moment and looked at the faces of the men taking shots down range. They were set to semiautomatic and it was clear that many of them had not fired on that setting before by the way they instinctively held down the trigger and braced for recoil from their Kalashnikovs instead of stroking it for precise shots like Witt had been trained. But he could also see the determination set in their sunken cheeks. This was a spirited little force he would be leading, and courage sometimes was half the battle.

"Then could you _advise_ this one that he only needs to tap the trigger lightly and hold it more loosely so that his arm doesn't tire. It is _easier_ to make one shot hit the target than to unload the magazine in it and miss."

Park told that to the man who had to be in his thirties and Witt received a stiff nodded before the man sighted up again and loosened his shoulders like Witt _advised_. Witt strode up and down the firing line again, noticing side glances toward this one and then soon, all of them were doing it.

"Weird." Witt said.

"It's called _Juche."_ Park said. "It means independent stand or spirit of self-reliance. Cho says they were raised to be self reliant since birth. Everyone in North Korea works for the common good, but does not ask for help from others. The only grace comes from the Dear Leader."

"Who?"

"Kim Jong Un. He's a God figure here. Literally. It's lucky that so many of these ones are political prisoners, otherwise they would be the ones killing _us_."

Witt was a nonpracticing Christian, but even then he wondered how badly must these people have been brainwashed for a man that had descended from someone who looked like an evil lunchlady to become their God.

"Tell them they are doing very well." Witt said as he saw his crosscom helmet blink on the ground nearby. Witt took a few strides over and slipped the helmet on.

"Ghost leader, go ahead."

"_Captain, Long. I think we have our first raid target. There's a site the KPA are clearing out for something and I'm willing to bet it's a dump. I say we do a couple more recons and then hit it when we're good and ready."_

"Sounds good." Witt said. A few days? If there were army units in that area, they'd have to bring food and ammunition, things Witt's force sorely needed. Those little sardines certainly weren't enough to feed seven hundred and Witt was no miracle worker. "Stay hidden."

"_WILCO."_ Long exited the channel. Witt stretched his legs and looked back at the men who had stopped firing. Cho was leading them in a bayonet drill now, showing the men that although the blade was the deadly part, that close in the gun was still useful. Cho stepped forward to a branch, hacked it with the blade, allowing it to slide off then pretended to fire two rounds into the trunk. He caught Witt's glance and nodded. Witt nodded back. They'd do when the time came it seemed.

* * *

><p>0700 – Chongdu<p>

They were losing. There wasn't any other way to say it. Had it only been four days since the outbreak of the war? Swedo felt like it had been months. The Rangers of 75th had been pushed back day after day giving ground to the North Koreans as their tanks and infantry swarmed forward. The air support helped stem the tide a little, as did the artillery. It was a general order going around to every unit, infantry, armored and artillery to look/listen closely and observe how the enemy acted to pinpoint and target leaders. For Swedo, his orders were to focus on platoon and squad leaders. The North Koreans were well disciplined, doing everything their leaders told them. From what he'd been told though, once those leaders were gone, they were very slow to improvise. That was what the PANTO force had in an advantage there.

They were making a short stand here, there apparently were major Korean People's Army regiments heading towards this strategic crossroads. It had already been evacuated, last Swedo had heard the civilians were fleeing toward Japan by boat now that the Chinese had gone and hit the major airports. There was always at least four friendly fighters overhead now, their contrail lines scratched white in the robin's egg blue sky. Swedo had been with the 16th Korean mechanized infantry when the missiles came screaming down. He'd watched a single missile, just _one_ destroy an entire column of vehicles, and many of those weren't military. He was so shocked by that he couldn't bring himself to go and help the burning people out of their charred hulks.

Swedo looked at two other Rangers down the line, a few men from second squad, light a pair of smokes. Swedo felt an instant urge to grab one himself before realizing he hated smoking. Who cared though? Who cared when a single missile could wipe out everything you were - memories, characteristics, looks, body build, intelligence, literally _everything_ – in the blink of an eye? Swedo leaned over and wet his lips to ask for a smoke when his crosscom came alive.

"_Forward lookouts report enemy movement in regiment strength just over the hills. All call signs, stand to. Say again all call signs stand to."_

"Third platoon stand to and sound off!" Swedo scrambled upright and peered over the wall that was serving as their front line. He checked the red dot sight he'd moved down the rail integration on his SCAR. It was nice but he'd learned quickly that the holographic reticle was almost useless at targets down range a hundred yards or more – and he was fighting a lot at longer distances now. But the ACOG scope was clumsy and wasn't good at close range at all. Then he'd seen a few of the other men compromising by attatching _both_. By moving the Holographic sight down the rail and screwing on an adjustment to the ACOG so that it could be flipped aside with the turn of the wrist, Swedo had found a weapon that operated both at close and long distances. His ammunition was stacked just to the left of him, he had six magazines on the plastic crate and three on his vest along with a single grenade and his Camel waterpouch on his back. He'd learned that he needed to move quickly and he glanced down to check that his boots were tied tightly. He'd need to move fast, either to run away or to dash forward. Either way he was useless slow. All his squads sounded off ready as over the lip of the hill several Korean marines sprinted toward the outskirts of the city. There was a big highway ramp that the main contingent was controlling and that was flanked by two hills which a few Bradley's were positioned on top of. Swedo was on the right flank of the city which was mostly flat ground and rice paddies. Chogdu was a curious hybrid of both rural farm and modern city.

It would be tanks on this side of the town, Swedo decided taking notice of the kilometer long flat terrain in front of the hill. He heard boots thud behind him and he turned to watch a soldier in the Japanese Self Defense Force uniform dash by to a position further down the line. The Japanese had begun showing up along the lines to "relieve" them. Swedo wasn't relieved to see them, but more worried that they would eventually be holding a line that had been pushed back by veterans. They were all pussies ever since they lost World War 2 right?

"_Identify enemy on the ridge. Infantry and armor."_ A sergeant reported. Swedo relayed that to the company Captain Haggs.

"_We aren't sticking around for long. Let's get our licks in and fall back when I give the order. We've got something special planned for them._" Haggs said. The hissing sound of tube artillery cut through the crosscom and the barrage began, Swedo ducked down below his wall to prevent himself from being hit by flying shrapnel. This was how they always started their attacks, soften the front with artillery first. If a round landed on top of him, well that was that. Swedo wouldn't have to worry about getting hit by shrapnel then. The barrage lasted for ten full minutes with men shouting, a few screams cut through the channel to be squelched as the squad sergeants cut off their lines. Shouts for medics. And then the rounds stopped. A second note replaced the first, heavier and fuzzier in pitch now.

That would be the smoke artillery, used to curtain the advance of the enemy. It would work against an opponent back in the day, with the smoke blocking line of sight. Swedo flipped the Infrared filters on his HUD and suddenly his world became colored according to heat. The enemy tanks were advancing down the hill now, with infantry close behind at leisurely jogs.

"Platoon, fire out at maximum range. Weapons are free." Swedo ordered. Next to him, Smith was hefting a shoulder mounted rocket launcher, an AT-10 Zeus which he steadied against the lip of the brick wall that separated the outer city suburbs with the rice paddy. His HUD radar began tagging his opponents, red boxes and diamonds outlined the orange heat signatures through the smoke. Without even an order the missiles volleyed, trailing wires behind them. As long as the Zeus operator kept the laser designator sight pointed at the target, the missile would home in. Could the weapon even penetrate that kind of tank armor? What kinds of tanks were they?

The first missiles struck home rippling fire across the Skinny advance. Almost immediately the tanks returned fire. Swedo ducked under the rock again and sighted up preparing to kill once again but not quite ready to die.


	16. Chapter 15

0710 – Chogdu

"Knife fight." Sergeant Benjamin Allens grimaced as he peered through the periscope of his M5A2 Schwartzkopf Main Battle Tank.

"Looks like it." The gunner, corporal Leukaf stretched his neck and loosened his shoulders setting his aperture sights on the leading tanks. There was enough smoke to make it seem as though fog had swept down on the rice paddies, and here Allens was hidden behind a wooden cutout of what was supposed to be a little house. Up close it didn't do a good job of camouflaging, but from afar who knew? There were a line of tanks there on the hill, instantly creating a suburb where there weren't and below the hills were where the infantry were, firing missiles and machinegun fire to waste the leading echelon of the enemy tanks. Overhead, friendly artillery screamed, targeting the enemy artillery with murderous counter battery fire.

"My trigger finger's getting real itchy, Sarge." Leukaf grunted.

"Don't." Private Diggs, the loader shrugged as he tapped his foot impatiently against the hull floor.

Only Corporal Marion, the driver remained silent but he was probably concentrated on the battle below. Tube artillery and some freefall rockets were pounding the forward infantry positions, shattering what few stone buildings were down there and flattening the mostly paper and wood structures.

It was nice to have the latest and greatest in US technology here to fight an army from a forgotten era. The Schwartzkopf was indeed very special, with its special ablative coating which not only repelled incoming fire but also absorbed radar signals it was a nightmare on the battlefield as the Raptor was in the sky. Throw in the 125mm rail gun, alongside 40mm grenade launcher and .50 caliber machine gun on a pintle mount and you combined all the aspects of a commander's nightmare – a powerful fast moving opponent that you couldn't see.

A green flare shot up from the forward positions, signaling the retreat. Already fireteam sized units were dashing up the hill as machine gun fire licked out towards them and kicked up soil and grass.

"Okay let's spool her up Diggs." Allens ordered and Diggs flipped the charge switches to flood power into the rail integrated magnets. It had enough electromagnetic charge behind it to "throw" rounds to distances almost 6 miles away on a flat trajectory and could very easily destroy several tanks if they were lined up with a single shot.

Settings like that though would completely ruin the chamber and fuck up everything else that made this tank so superb so they would all settle for half power. "Load Sabot." Lekauf said and Diggs stomped the pedal to open the breach so he could load the heavy depleted uranium antitank round into the rail gun. It seemed to be primitive for such an advanced tank to have something like a man that did nothing but load the weapon, but robotics weren't up to speed on loading the right rounds yet. Diggs and any human could slam a round into the breech faster than any autoloader system. Plus, Joint Strike Force tankers liked to keep a variety of rounds for dicey situations. Each Schwartzkopf carried 40 rounds, twenty Sabot, 5 Antimaterial, 5 HEAT, 5 FRAG, and now 5 of the new Smart Top Attack Munition that the US had copied from the Koreans. A loadman brought a lot more to the battlefield than just his ability to load.

"_Buffalo, Mustang, and Grizzly" _the battalion commander squawked over the crosscom. "_Weapons are free at this time. Wait till they pass the town and go loud._"

"Solid copy, Mustang lead." Allens replied over the constant electronic whine of the cannon.

"_Eyes on hostiles. Identify type fifty fives and BMPs."_ Buffalo two said.

Allens began to see dark shapes, like blurred smudges on glass, emerge through the smoke and enter the ruins of the town. The infantry were moving to their second positions, a line of foxholes and sandbags at the lip of the hill with Javelin and AT-10 Zeus missile launchers waiting their arrival. Several of the men were already preparing them to fire.A few enemy tanks began to fire with their cannon hitting the ground just at the lip of the hill, and most of the infantry were already dashing up it toward their positions. The Skinnies surged at the ruins, bunching up for another attack and then went at it in full force. Allens waited for the order while he turned the periscope to the right to get a view down the line. Immediately next to him was a Korean K2 Black Panther tank. It looked nice but Allens wondered how a twenty year old vehicle would handle against the Schwartzkopf, a tank that was just coming into widespread service amongst the Joint Strike Force?

Allens turned the periscope towards the enemy and flipped to the barrel mounted fiber optic camera to see down the gunsight, there they were almost in range, he searched visually for-there antennae tank, that would be a command vehicle-

"Target Antennae Tank, eleven thirty low!"

"Target acquired sir!" The vehicle turret rumbled as it turned to track the target. The computer system inside the Schwartzkopf made it childishly easy for the gunner. All he had to do was point the crosshair at the target and squeeze the thumb pickles to shoot off the laser. The computer calculated the variables like distance, heat, wind direction and speed, electromagnetic power, weight and mass of the chambered round and automatically adjusted for all of them. All Lekauf had to do next was squeeze the trigger and send their sabot round flashing down range to punch through the T-55's armor like a needle through cloth-

"_Mustang, Fire at will!"_

"Oorah!" Allens hooted into the crosscom and barked "_Fire!"_

As one, the tanks on the hill volleyed their shots which took the forward tanks completely by surprise. The Korean Panther's discharged smoke when they shot, kicking up dust through the reverberations and jolting violently with each cannon recoil. The Schwartzkopf and their advanced rail integrated cannons had no such inhibition. Because the rail gun had no moving parts, there was little to no recoil and also no smoke because of the lack of charge powder. There was only the bright flash of discharged ions and plasma from the tank in the millisecond before the Sabot round streaked towards its target, shedded its armor to become the depleted uranium dart, punch through the armor plating that protected the T-55's tank turret, tore through the ammunition canisters at the back of the turret and exiting out the back to plow a furrow into the ground. Allens couldn't even comprehend how quick that process was, but that is what he had learned in tank school when he had first joined the Joint Strike Force.

"Delta Hotel!" Allens called as their target tank burst in a shower of sparks and the turret exploded and flipped high in the air before crashing into the grass. The Russians built their tanks so that only a few rounds were stored in the back and the rest lay under the turret resulting in a very dangerous environment for the operators to fight in. Allens turned the periscope to seek another target – noting the charred remains of the cardboard cutout house that served as their camouflage –

"Load Sabot!" Allens barked as Diggs stepped on the pedal to ejected the acrid smoking canister that glowed red from the heat and smelled of something awful, to load a fresh shell into the gun and respool it.

"Gun ready!"

Target Tank, twelve o'clock level!" The turret turned and elevated to the next target-

"Bring her up about ten degrees-"

"Target acquired!" Lekauf said.

"_Fire! Fire Sabot!"_

* * *

><p>0715 – Chongdu<p>

Swedo had never fired a Javelin missile before. He'd practiced firing one at basic but he'd never actually shot a live missile. He slid into cover at a prepared position, next to the camoflauged bunker, and brushed the branches off the missile system before shouldering it. He didn't even try to kneel, just sat on his rear and activated the laser designator as Bowman slid behind him and checked the Javelin. Swedo brought the crosshairs on a retreating tank in the village, still well inside the Javelin's range. Bowman patted his helmet and shouted "You're-"

But that was drowned out by another thunderclap as the tanks on the hill fired again. Pieces of cobblestone kicked up close to where Swedo's target was, and the Javelin system locked in with its laser target designator and gave Swedo a constant tone.

The missile lanced up into the air, trailing an almost invisible copper wire on it, Swedo peeked over the sights to watch it scream up almost going over the clouds before jackknifing suddenly and coming down like a stroke of lightning on the tank, tearing through the top layer and imploding the top so that metal flaps bloomed around the penetration.

"Nice Hit!" Bowman shouted, Swedo hefted up his SCAR, flipped up the ACOG scope and sighted up on the infantry who had just lost their armored cover and began putting rounds down range, just as he had done in basic.

The enemy were caught in the open, with nothing beyond a few dead tanks to hide behind. Swedo had been attacked several times by the Skinnies by now and what he had learned that while their foot soldiers and maybe even their tankers were competent, their commanders were terrible. They commited their troops time and again to straight forward mass attacks. It worked in practice, the PANTO forces had been steadily pushed back day after day. But Swedo couldn't understand just how low of respect for life their commanders had for their troops.

He'd heard rumors of these soldiers charging _line abreast_ like civil war infantrymen against a line of machine guns. Who was in charge on the other side that their soldiers were that expendable but also _considered_ themselves that expendable?

Swedo couldn't understand that. Sure he respected the chain of command-

Artillery streaked in kicking up dirt, plants and water in the far off rice paddy. That would be friendly artillery cutting off the enemy's retreat.

Dirt kicked up around the hill, someone screamed. That was incoming artillery, Swedo hoped. He didn't want to think of PANTO guns being trained on this hill top, especially since there were a number of Spartan self propelled howitzers with fragmentation rounds over the next set of hills. Swedo waited for one of the Skinnies to break cover from his tank and he put two rounds in the back. It was only now that he for some reason took notice that two bloody puffs sprayed from the man's body – man? Or was it a boy? - as he spun around and collapsed on the ground. No he wasn't dead yet, Swedo might have aimed for the center of mass and hit perfectly but the man writhed on the ground. He might have been screaming something.

Swedo didn't know, all he knew was that he had just shot someone that he might have had a good time with back at home if he'd gotten to know him, hell he might have met someone just like him at that crappy K-pop bar in Seoul. A round whizzed by, flashing green as its tracer embedded itself in the hill. Swedo ducked down instinctively, shook his head and raised his rifle again to snap the reticle of his Hybrid sight to his next target.

* * *

><p>0730 Chongdu<p>

The infantry in the middle of that hill were holding together well. A surprise counterattack had torn through the Korean People's Army ranks like a scythe to stalks of rice. The PANTO tanks were now advancing, but sweeping on the flanks to encircle the enemy inside the outskirt hamlet. A few of them remained on the hill and , directed by the Archon command vehicle and its millimeter band fire finder radar, elevated their cannons skyward and fired off their Smart Top Attack Munitions as it linked up to the fire control link set up by the field commander.

The Korean People's Army artillery units were already under counterbattery fire from the Spartan howitzers and what few tube pieces the Koreans had set up, but now with air burst shells adding to the mayhem the Skinny commander gave order for them all to fall back. Several rounds had landed close to his command post after all, and things could get dangerous for such a loyal servant of the Dear Leader.

The Skinnies in the town, on seeing the next wave of troops disengage under a hailstorm of artillery and tank rounds despaired. A few members raised their hands in surrender, most others fought to the death, some going so far as to gun down soldiers who were surrendering. A few even pretended to surrender so that they could fight the PANTO on more equal and animalistic terms. PANTO troops found it hard to distinguish the genuine and dejected surrenders from the false ones and many took no prisoners. Swedo was one of those, gunning down men and boys he might have met at the crappy bar in Seoul.


	17. Chapter 16

2000 – Vladivostock

Blanco had fucked up. She didn't know how. Maybe they tracked her via electronic footprint, maybe they put her under surveillance because she had snuck onto the base and placed that camera, maybe it was something as benign as hauling all that old photo darkroom equipment into her room. Maybe it was the spy camera she had smashed and threw into the street.

Whatever it was, all Blanco knew was that there was now a black vehicle three blocks down that had been there every day at one time or another for the past three days. It was the same car, same model and ID tags. She had never taken a look at the driver though. She'd chanced on it the first day, going out to the market in the morning for food, detouring to shop like so many normal Russian citizens did, and then on the return leg four hours later, the car and driver were still there. Her "Secret Agent Ears" perked up at that. She thought she was being paranoid, except the next day when she went to return the photo enlarger to the shop, the car was there again.

Fool Blanco twice, shame on her.

Third day. She was definitely under surveillance and she had her cell phone camera discreetly pointed at the car, zooming through the foggy window to be sure that its black shape was still there. Blanco was being _watched_.

As a Splinter Cell of Third Echelon, Blanco had been trained in countersurveillance techniques. She had a stash of fake Identifications and passports hidden in carefully wrapped tinfoil and chocolate, debit cards from a dozen different Russian banks with enough money for her to live comfortably and evaporate from view. Blanco could disappear like smoke in a hurricane.

There was just the slight problem of Sam Fisher ordering her for further surveillance – and now the Director of Central Intelligence had gotten involved in her operation. She couldn't move.

Fuck orders, wouldn't she be more useful to her country if she _wasn't_ caught and interrogated? No, because the last thing Blanco needed was the Russian SVU and a CIA kill team sent after her. Maybe it would be Ghost Recon soldiers. She didn't want to know how she'd handle against them.

Blanco hadn't practiced any of her martial skills in months. She found yoga much more relaxing than just slapping a punching bag around like a dead slab of meat. Once for stress she'd even squeezed marshmellows. It helped. Now Blanco was wondering why she didn't practice shooting and fighting every day of her life? She was a Splinter Cell after all, she didn't get there just because her language skills were good.

Third Echelon required her particular set of skills, she wasn't the most social person in the world yet could enter it seamlessly as though slipping on a different dress. She was deadly, she was efficient. Bond might not have existed and his rules certainly didn't apply to the CIA but more and more Blanco was worrying that she would be caught in one of his films and she didn't know if Bond would be slipping out of this one.

Blanco glanced at the video image played on her glasses as the driver of the car backed up and entered the busy street. There would be another car coming now-no there already was one, that was what _constant surveillance_ meant. She hoped they didn't have cameras in her house. Blanco went into the closet to pull out a shoebox that concealed her Smith&Weston .22 Wraith pistol and suppressor. The ammunition was stacked neatly next to the cigarette cartons. If the SVU decided to break down her door without proper authorities and found this, she'd at least be going to prison for firearms possession.

Well nobody would be taking Blanco to prison without her say in it, she mused and snapped a nine round magazine into the weapon.

* * *

><p>2000 – near Kosan<p>

"_Eyes on tangos, Cap'n. Counting ten…ten on the east side of the perimeter- no eleven now. Say again eleven targets are identified."_ Sullivan's voice was just a whisper of the crosscom as red boxes were splashed over the enemy infantry Witt couldn't see. His helmet HUD had already tagged another six on his own west side perimeter.

"Six here." Witt whispered back. He looked to Cho on his right. He knew commendable English – meaning he knew enough words to throw one in every twelve Korean words - and even though Witt was technically the one in charge here and still had to prove himself, he wanted Cho to get the feeling that this was _his_ war and not the Americans.

"Cho." The Korean lieutenant flicked his eyes toward Witt from the underbrush. Witt was almost invisible in the night, he was in full combat gear minus a couple pounds of deadweight. The Korean resistance fighters were in their prison garbs and had smeared mud over their bodies to blur their outlines and cover the shine of their metal AK-47s. That was something Witt probably couldn't do with the M416 he wielded. The M416 was _supposed_ to be mud and grit proof like the AK but he didn't want to test that in field. The AK was a perfect all weather weapon. It took a _lot_ of punishment to disable that weapon. "Cho. Do we go quietely or kill them?"

Cho lay perfectly still for a moment although Witt thought he caught a flicker of movement like he was biting his lip. Then he nodded and whispered back. "_Shh!"_and held a finger up to his lips and pointed to the guards.

"Wait or no?" Witt whispered. Again a slight pause.

"Go. You." Cho pointed to the six guards again. Witt cocked his head.

"All of them?" Witt wasn't sure he could take on six. It would be hard to do quietely, even with silent weapons and all those trucks around six guards was a challenge.

"Yes. Only." Cho said.

"Only me." Witt said to be clear.

"Yes."

Witt puffed out a breath and nodded. This Korean was going to ride him. But Witt took the opportunity that said _prove to me that Americans are better than us. Prove to us that you can lead._

Witt moved as silently as he could, being sure to run on his toes (his boot tips were soft soled and therefore made little noise, even on the dirt road) up behind the first truck. None of them were running and there were two dozen of them stacked up on this little side of the road that served as a minor rest stop and fueling point for the Korean People's Army. Snickers carried up from around the front of the truck, where Witt's six targets were. He heard pebbles squelch underneath feet and Witt froze, letting his rifle hang loose on his sling and drawing his M9 silenced pistol. One soldier turned the corner, rifle over his shoulder and rubbing his nose as Witt brought the pistol up – one hand aiming and another hand over the pistol bolt to catch the cartridge so it made no noise – and squeezed off a double tap, catching both rounds in his hand. His target's head jerked back but in death he made no noise and Witt lunged forward to catch him before he fell and got him by his belt buckle. He hauled him over and lay him in a sitting position at the wheel of the fuel truck. His uniform was not Korean. Witt had seen the Korean uniforms, they were straight out of the sixties, a dirty brown color that promoted conformity and dullness. This one was well fed and had a camouflage pattern and the red star cap that was apparent on all Korean People's Army uniforms were missing. Instead the man's shoulder crests displayed the red flag of China.

Fuck, Chinese now?

Witt holstered the pistol and used his shaving mirror to peek around the corner on the remaining five-damn. Another two walked into the discussion and began talking.

"Ghosts do you copy?" Witt hissed and in response he received breaks on the crosscom to signal that his team was listening in.

"Get ready to take out your available targets on my command. Relay that to Cho."

A double break from all of them signified they confirmed the order.

There was the faintest rustle and Witt's HUD flashed blue as he trained his weapon on the new black shapes that had joined him. Cho, directly across from Witt, nodded. He had proved his worth already, but there were too many enemies to get in the way of a petty superiority thing. Witt held up five fingers and gestured around the corner. Cho nodded again and began flashing more hand signals, that Witt easily understood. He and Cho would sweep the sides to ensure that there was nobody hiding around the corners and they would all converge on these five in a crossfire. Cho held up his handcannon and went around, while Witt went rifle first in the opposite direction.

There was only one, easily dispatched by a single shot to the head – Witt caught the smoking round in his glove and caught the man just as he had before. Chinese.

Witt peeked his head around the corner and saw the five targets. He saw a blurr of movement like oil on tar in the background – Cho was in position. One of the Chinese saw it to because he craned his neck to look for it – Three pistols barked and two fell, Witt fired with his rifle and all five were dropped quickly. The chatter of other weapons and the disappearing of red tags told Witt the other guards had been efficiently dispatched.

"Clear." Witt said.

"_Clear."_ Sullivan said.

"Okay." Witt safed his rifle and began searching the bodies of the Chinese troops. It was definitely a score here, an intelligence one that Witt could relay to SOCCOM as well as a logistical one: the Chinese had more food than the North Koreans and therefore would probably be carrying more. One of the resistance fighters broke discipline and shouted as something heavy flopped onto the dirt.

"Rice." Cho flashed a smirk to Witt who nodded. It was only their first operation and while small, was a great confidence booster for these men. They were new to warfare and a successful mission would make them feel good. Of course, the food would make them feel even better.

* * *

><p>0200 – CVN-1 <em>USS Enterprise<em>

The nervousness had returned now that the US 7th fleet steamed ever close to their target area. Already combat Air patrols had been doubled and there was one AWACS aloft at all times to boost the radar net of the fleet. Technically Pierrera was already at war. He should feel more relaxed now.

But how could he? He hadn't ever been shot at yet, and now he was the new squadron commander as the old one cussed out the nurses at Honalulu State Hospital. A full twelve man naval aviation squadron was his, but he didn't know if he could fulfill that role. Pierrera sleepily donned his flight suit and helmet in the ready room and slapped a hand on the locker before walking out and climbing up the stairs to the flight deck where his F-19 Bobcat was readying for launch.

"Got all the things set sir." A red shirt – the red shirt that had dropped the missile on the CO's leg in fact - said as he jogged next to Pierrera. Pierrera was fully awake now, jolted by the black coffee (often referred to as "tar" by the salts) that they served in the ready room. The Red shirt swung his headset microphone away from his mouth and opened his goggles to wipe them. Pierrera felt the sting of salt spray wash over his face. The night was cold and if there was anything worse than landing on a moving platform like a carrier that moved at 20 knots as it bobbed in the waves, it was the fact that Pierrera would have to do it at night.

"Make sure the missiles are on tight would you?" Pierrera snapped to the Red shirt. He shouldn't be taking out his stress on the poor guy, but there it was – an easy target in bright red.

"Will do sir." The Red shirt ran over to the open missile bay doors of the F-19 and checked the missiles as Pierrera climbed up the steps and sat into the seats of the fighter, settling himself into it and setting the helmet on his head.

"You're looking good sir." The red shirt gave Pierrera a thumbs up. Pierrera knew that he was referring to the state of his fighter, but couldn't help but feel that the red shirt was trying to be uplifting to Pierrera. If the red shirt did try, it wasn't working. Pierrera merely nodded, set the mask across his jaw and brought down the canopy as his fighter wheeled into position on the magnetic catapult. A minute later, Pierrera was roaring down the length of _Enterprise_ and soaring into the blackness so that he was alone once again.


	18. Chapter 17

1000 Pusan

The theater commanders in Korea were very nervous. True their troops had handled better than they anticipated, with their air power and superior tanks, infantry and weapons suppressing the Korean People's Army which was four times their size. Losses had been heavy for the North, their troops were competent although their commanding officers showed a lack of intuition and it was the poor men in the army that were suffering for it. Captured soldiers varied. Some were more than happy to exchange information for a bowl of rice and three square meals, a few had even volunteered to defect. However there were the others that thought of them, particularly the Americans, as scum to be wiped out. They refused to talk and betray their "Dear Leader" and resisted all attempts. It was quite a credit toward _Juche_.

Even now bolstered by the arrival of Japanese army troops (there weren't many anyway) PANTO had slowly been pushed back, averaging twenty kilometers a day. There were just _too many_ North Koreans. Munitions were quickly running low and PANTO was dipping into in theater strategic reserves. The Americans were throwing their air power into the mix, shifting fighters and cargo planes laden down with fuel, vehicles and ammunition from strategic bases like Midway and Guam over to air bases in Tokyo and Okinawa.

The arrival of the Chinese and her navy had made things far more difficult than they already were.

The Republic of Korea government, ousted from Seoul, had its first objective of evacuating civilians from Pusan to Japan, most by sea but a few by air. This drained resources from both the air force and Coast Guards of Japan and South Korea. The People's Liberation Army Air Force had launched attrition raids from the south, using tankers boosted from their Carrier fleet which had exited the Yellow sea and had taken a covering position to block any sort of southerly escape from Japan. They had shot down three airliners already, two filled with Civilians, one with US Army troops. Their submarines prowled the Seas around it, whittling the tiny Coast Guards two or three vessels a day. So far they had been unsuccessful in attacking the passenger liners but at the rate they were being sunk it was only a matter of time.

The PANTO fleet was on their way, Australia – so far away – were preparing to launch their own air force to aide Korea as well. They had already begun launching raids on the southern Chinese border through Vietnamese airspace (who wasn't officially a part of PANTO but kept good relations with the United States and Australia) but it wouldn't matter if the relief force arrived behind the Chinese and their numbers.

There wouldn't be any force to relieve.

* * *

><p>0300 Khabarvosk (100 miles North of Vladivostock, close to the RussianChinese border)

There were a lot of Chinese living illegally in Russia these days and Russia had never really made an attempt to oust them. Chau was one of those that lived there legally. He was discriminated against here, sure – the Russians and the Chinese had always shared one of the most militarized borders in history, and the clash between East and West was always fought in the Criminal underworld around these parts, with the Russian Mafiya vying for narcotics market control against the Chinese Triads.

Chau had been picked up by the Russian SVU three years ago on a Triad drug run. He'd almost died but the SVU traded his life for the lives of several Traid members and that was how he had come into their employ. Chau was proud to be Chinese. He was good at what he did, and the money he got from his duties was more than enough to live comfortably in the sketchy apartment complexes in the downtown area of Khabarvosk. Tonight's job would be a big payoff.

He slotted his SVU time card into the machine and checked into his second job, janitorial work at the local newscasting station. There were some night crew around, of course they would be here just in case some breaking story would come along so they could cover it live and play it when everyone awoke. They were nice people although they regarded Chau with a bit of disdain since he _was_ a janitor after all so Chau had no remorse for what he was about to do. He whistled and eyed his partner which was just down the hall and pushing his own janitorial cart. It didn't even take a nod, they both pushed their way into the broadcasting room where the night staff were busy at their computers checking stories and listening to the police scanners for news. The manager turned and smirked, raising a mug of coffee in salute.

Chau brought his Type 95 chinese assault rifle from inside his janitor's jumpsuit and charged the bolt which got everyone's attention very quickly. His partner did the same and they opened fire simultaneously, hosing everyone inside the place. It was easy to do everyone was sitting down and the computers were close together to conserve space. They shot those in the corners first, just in case a few managed to "escape" the initial bursts of gunfire but the way the pair moved it was merely herding them all into a group where they were all shot with automatic fire.

Chau's partner covered the door while Chau himself walked coolly up to the broadcasting computer and jacked a USB drive into the port to upload his broadcast. It was a copy of a Chinese propaganda broadcast that the SVU had acquired many years ago, and this would be playing over all the radios, televisions and computers in Khabarvosk. To everyone, it would look as though the Chinese had invaded and taken hold of the television broadcasting station.

If Chau thought right, the same would be happening elsewhere in Russia. But Chau's job was done, all he had to do now was wait for the Spetsnaz extraction team to sneak Chau out and pay him. If Russia wanted to go to war with the place of Chau's birth who was Chau to stop them?

Chau would be ten million rubles richer by tonight anyway, more than enough to sit back in his apartment and watch the war from a safe distance.

* * *

><p>2000– Washington DC<p>

"Message for you sir." Agent Fitzpatrick said and gestured into another room with a cock of his head. President Becerra sighed and wiped his mouth and goatee with a napkin.

"Go ahead honey." His wife said and tucked into her quesadilla with relish. It was their first dinner together since she had returned from her promotion trip. Even that had to be put aside for the National Interest. Becerra frowned to FLOTUS and took three strides into the Oval Office where Fitz shut the door behind him. His Chiefs of Staff inside nodded in greeting to POTUS and sat down on the sofas. Others that couldn't be there winked onto several plasma screens in the office via video chat, one screen remained dark.

"NORAD is still busy then?" Becerra observed.

"Yes, Mr. President. He's supervising Kinetic Weapon platform drills at this time." General Mitchell said. Well the best of luck to NORAD then, he was the only thing keeping the United States safe from intercontinental ballistic missile strike. Mitchell signaled to Agent Fitz who flipped a switch to activate the holographic display of the Korean theater onto the coffee table in the center of the Oval office.

"You all can see this?" Mitchell looked at everyone on the plasma screens and received a round of affirmatives.

"Okay." Mitchell touched the two corners of the map and drew his arms outward to enlarge it so that its edges hung far over the table, then he placed two fingers directly onto the map and drew them outward so that it zoomed out to present more than just the Korean theater but also the Chinese/Russian border and Mongolia.

"Mr. President, at this time President Kapalkin should be giving a speech about deliberate attacks on Russian soil."

Becerra placed a hand over his mouth and furrowed his brow. "How bad?"

"It looks like the Chinese have attacked every major city along the border." General of the Army responded and pointed a clicker so that red symbols flashed over the major border series. "Some of them don't have proper bases. Apparently the Russians were able to throw them back – that's what their official sources say anyway – but their press is screaming that this was a deliberate act of war. Kapalkin is in a meeting with the _Ducha_."

"Okay, so what's really happening there?" Becerra turned to Director Mahan of Central Intelligence. Mahan held a hand out for the clicker before beginning.

"From what our own sources have observed from Chinese troop movements, they haven't done anything to provoke an attack. They want a piece of _us_ Mr. President. Provoking Russia is the last thing I would want to do in that situation. I would bet anyone here could tell you that fighting a multifront war against two of the biggest Armed Treaties on earth is a bad idea and the Chinese aren't stupid. It would be my best guess that these attacks are faked and that Russia is using this as an excuse to expand their sphere of influence.

"That's what I was thinking." Becerra said. "It's too convenient for the Russians." The diplomatic relationship between China and Russia had been strained since the formation of the two governments but it had only blown into full war now. It was good that the United States now had someone to relieve the pressure off its forces but at what cost? They weren't exactly friends with the Russians anymore than they were with the Chinese.

"So where does this leave us?" General Air Force said.

"NORAD sir." A female Secret Service Agent named O'Reilly whispered and held out a phone. Becerra always wondered why so many members of the CIA and Secret Service happened to have Irish blood in them.

"I can't take it." Becerra shook his head. "It can wait."

" – Russia has been moving troops into place over the past year, their border units are all Type A shock armies with Spetznaz Guard Brigade units at every strategic point along their line." Mahan pointed out. "And their Navy has increased the number of sorties per vessel over the past four years."

"We'll need to create a bigger perimeter around Korea if it comes to shooting with Ivan." COMPACFLT pointed out. "The northern waters are very vulnerable and could disrupt a lot of movement if they control it. The Japanese Coast Guard is good, but it can't match up to the Russian Navy."

"They have a large air presence in that sector too, their new Mig-50 is as good as our Raptor, will we have air superiority if they end up –

"What if they just roll over our troops in the North –

"What about the Korean people –

The meeting dissolved into chaos that Becerra didn't try to control at the moment. Russia was a big weight in this world and the threat of a three way war didn't appeal to him at all. He did not want American troops fighting three enemies on two fronts, it was unheard of for any country to pull that off. Becerra expected a call later that day either from the Chinese or from the Russians about joint operations against a common enemy and Becerra would have to decide what to say to either of them-

"Sir." Mitchell woke Becerra up from his slight doze. "KWP – 2 has just fired at a missile over Iran." Becerra bolted upright and looked at the holo display which now replayed the incident. War had become so detached now.

"What was the payload?" Becerra said as he saw one of the Kinetic Weapons Platforms fire its depleted uranium rods around the earth to connect with a missile that was just beginning its downward descent.

"Unknown but if it was an Iranian missile, I would say ten nuclear warheads of a five to ten megaton yield. City busters."

"And what was the target?" Becerra said.

"Unsure."

"Get me NORAD."


	19. Chapter 18

1200 – Pusan

"Fuckin A, there's no way you got that hand-" Smith objected.

"Read it and weep." Bowman smiled and showed them the straight flush and scooped up the pot.

"Luckiest son of a fucker in the Army." Swedo smiled although he was a little mad that twenty of his dollars was now being shoved over to Bowman's ever growing pile.

"Hey!" Smith turned and grinned to Swedo. "You've grown up sir!"

"Huh?"

"You're cussing dude!" Smith smiled again and brushed dirt off his shoulder. Trench was a dirty place for a game of cards but Rangers made do with what they had.

"Oh. Yeah." Swedo shrugged and dealt seconds again. He'd seen a lot this past week and a half. He'd seen men die in gruesome ways, saw women and children burn alive when a Chinese missile dropped on them, seen prisoners knelt down, stripped and made to play humiliatingly foolish games like Russian Roulette or Dodge the Bullet. He'd helped them play those games and for some reason – Swedo hated himself for this – he took pleasure in watching those grown men and boys squirm under the barrel of a rifle. He hated himself for it, yet he would do it again if he was bored enough. When he was a sleep his mind must grow bored because he played those sick games in his sleep only sometimes he was the one blindfolded, stripped and hearing a bullet snap close to his ear or bite off a finger or a toe. Sometimes he was the one who heard the revolver click as the single loaded round was chambered into the barrel and sometimes he was in the civilian convoy looking as the missile nosed up and bloomed like a flower to shower incendiary grenades all over-

"Hey!" a shout went down the line and Swedo poked his head over to see a Korean Prisoner making a run for it across the prepared ground. They'd bulldozed the outskirts of Busan so that it resembled a freshly plowed field and this man, in tattered rags of his country's uniform, was dashing off toward the end. The others looked forward at the spectacle too as two Korean marines dashed after him.

"Ten bucks says he doesn't get another twenty yards." Smith said.

"Deal. He'll be down in ten." Bowman said with his track runner's eye.

"I'm not betting." Brown shrugged and chewed on the end of his cigar. "What about you sir?"

Swedo lifted his rifle and put a single round in the center of the man's back.

"Fuck. Ten yards." Smith scowled.

"Keep the money." Bowman said and shook his head.

"You guys gonna fold?" Swedo looked up at the others who quietly sat back down and resumed their game.

* * *

><p>1200 Between Pusan and Taengu<p>

There were thirty fighters stacked up in this raid, Japanese F-2s loaded with old Rockeye clustermunitions supported by F-16 Slam Falcons from the Korean Air Force, F-15Cs off of Australia (the first in theater) at sixty thousand feet and Cotugno's Rogues as a covering overflight.

They cruised at eighty thousand feet, where the cloud cover was thick on this already cloudy day. The powerful Raptor engines allowed them to achieve heights that the Generation 3 aircraft could not. Constant air raids were part of the main strategy. They were supposed to whittle down the incoming forces – Chinese had begun to appear in the enemy ranks and that was a sore sight – as much as they could. The barrier combat air patrol Cotugno usually flew was where most of the air efforts were directed, the Chinese air raids still slipped through the net to bomb cities and supply points though, further disrupting the evacuation efforts of civilians and military. The Chinese fleet launched missiles at day and night if they had the power to do so and there had been landings of troops at Inchon and Kurisan.

A keening whine/roar filled Cotugno's ears and he scanned the sky for the sound-a grey shape flashed below. A Chinese cruise missile off to kill another target. Shit.

"_Time on target, six mikes_." Tailor lead, the Australian squadron commander, told everyone.

"_Yellow group, Mastermind, ground targets are being uploaded to your HUD now. Designating Killbox one alpha to six delta at grid four eight niner niner. How copy?"_

"_Solid copy Mastermind."_ Tailor lead responded.

"Eyes open Rogues." Cotugno added to his four raptors. He was getting tired. The last bit of action he and his raptors had seen was the air engagement over the yellow sea. For some reason on all the combat patrols Cotugno _didn't_ fly there was some sort of air engagement, Cotugno really wanted that double ace insignia painted under the cockpit of his fighter.

"_Yellow group, you are weapons free at this time. Execute your TAC."_

"_WILCO. Roughhouse, Badger, Rhino-"_ Tailor lead didn't get to say anything after that. Six missiles streaked in and blotted six fighters out of the sky, including Tailor lead. What? Where did they come from? Cotugno immediately hit the burners and climbed for altitude, inverting so that his cockpit was facing the ground to give him a better image-

There, a black fighter, almost like a kite, darted down, making a gun pass on an F-2 who was just beginning to make an evasive turn. Tracers stitched across the right wing, sawing it off and throwing the F-2 into an uncontrolled spin, Cotugno hauled on the stick and cut his throttle to tighten his turn.

_Black Silk_.

The Chinese Varsity had finally come out to play. Cotugno set everything aside in his mind and turned to pursue.

"Rogues, weapons free! Call them Juliet-20s!"

"_I can't see them lead, there's too much cloud cover-_"

"_Three o'clock low Ducky, I'm going to pin him against the ground – "_

"_Hang on, watch your blind side-"_

The Black Silk Cotugno was following made a sudden turn to the right that Cotugno had to roll to follow. For a Chinese piece of shit this thing was nimble, light on the stick and it accelerated well. Cotugno didn't know all the capabilities of his adversary but the one advantage he had was that his target probably didn't know Cotugno was behind him, his evasive pattern seemed choreographed, it was too smooth. They weren't showing up on Cotugno's HUD which eliminated one of his advantages, the radar absorbant material on the Black Silk was repelling all attempts for Cotugno to get even the slightest lock, it would have to be cannon. He only had a thousand rounds in it though enough for a fifteen second burst. He'd have to be tight.

The fighter snapped to port and down suddenly, Cotugno easily matched the maneuver, the Silk was making another gun pass on the fighter formation which was now scrambling to maneuver, the F-2s jetted towards their target, even laden down with bombs they were trying to deal damage. The Silk angled down on a pair. Cotugno had just lined up his sight when the fighter climbed and hit the brakes suddenly falling behind Cotugno who instinctively dove under the sheet of fighter.

Someone else had alerted the Silk, that meant there was another fighter- red tracers shaved past his left side, Cotugno snaprolled up and alternated the rudders and vectored his thrust to angle on the Silk that had taken the deflection shot on him, he was five hundred yards in front, Cotugno tore off in hot pursuit, flipping the sidewinders to home in on the bright infrared trail of the Silk's afterburner. He brought the HUD reticle on the fighter and flipped open one of his missile bay doors as the Silk tore left dashing into the clouds to obscure Cotugno's vision but the infrared seeker screeched a good tone-

"Fox two!" Cotugno barked automatically as he squeezed the trigger and shut his missile bay as he received a warning that someone was trying for a radar lock on him. The clouds burst into white –decoy flares which might distract the missile but had given away the fighters position, Cotugno climbed and was out of cloud cover just behind the Black silk who was inverting almost lazily to dive back down. The sidewinder was nowhere to be seen, but that didn't matter. Cotugno ruddered right and squeezed the trigger for his Vulcan cannon. A full second burst went straight up the afterburners and turned the multimillion dollar aircraft into an expensive fireball. Cotugno hauled the stick and caught a flash of two other black shapes darting after him.

"I've got two on my tail."

"_Coming right under you lead, I'm right behind them."_ Rogue two said.

"Roger!" Cotugno dove into the clouds and obscured himself in grey mist again and began a loop to the left, he scanned the skies and saw the blue outline of Rogue two's raptor. He saw the irony of the moment here, stealth fighters hiding in the clouds. Who would get the jump on who?

Cotugno checked his rearview and saw the clearly lined path but no bandits behind him. They would have to return to attack the fighter/bombers soon, otherwise they would drop their payloads and become fighters to join this hunt. Cotugno spotted the air formation which had been savaged and was now spread out. Three hit burners to begin their attack run, Cotugno ducked under the cloud cover just in time to see a missile trail lash out at the trio. They dropped flares and chaff, decoying the missile successfully but the J-20 gave away its position which Cotugno prosecuted by arming his remaining sidewinder and achieving a lock. The fighter was so close the lock came almost instantly and after he fired, there was no chance for decoy and evasion. The fighter missile struck it on its spine, snapping the fighter in two, Cotugno saw the cockpit explode as the ejection seat fired up and away from the falling fighter. Maybe that pilot would come out alive, Cotugno couldn't worry about that now as he inverted and searched for another black shape, launch warning screeched and he saw a pair of black trails rise up from the ground so he dropped flares and turned. One of those missiles was bigger, a SAM launcher tracking someone's radar, the other was smaller faster – fighter based. The Black Silk wove between a pair of F-15s on their attack runs and went in guns blazing.

Cotugno felt his fighter rock under a single impact.

"I'm hit! I'm hit!" Cotugno looked to the right and saw that his wingtip had taken a single round, it was a scratch really but that would screw up his stealth signature, he was vulnerable now. His HUD began warbling as several radars were turned on Cotugno. Cotugno climbed and hit the burners going up and away.

"Master, Rogue Lead, I'm RTB. I'm useless here."

"_Solid Copy, Rogue lead head one eight zero and boogie out of there. I've got a covering flight heading down that vector."_

Cotugno turned and ran for the first time in his life. But he had taken a pair of kills, that was something he could feel proud of. The Black Silk was not invincible.

* * *

><p>1300 – AREA OF OPERATIONS YANKEE, USS <em>Oregon<em>

TO: ACTUAL SSN-791

FROM: COMSUBPAC

ENCRYPTION FEED:****

DECRYPTION KEY: **********

EQT SADOP X

"About time." Captain Portman set down the sheet of paper and nodded to the XO. "Battlestations, set for condition red."

Around the sub, the electronic bell rang and crewmen raced to their stations the hull clamored with boots ringing on metal. It wouldn't matter how loud they were, unless someone dropped a wrench or something, the interior of USS Oregon was soundproofed muffled and soundproofed again with a separate layer.

"I'll take the Conn." Portman told the XO who nodded and stood aside. Portman set his hands behind his back and cleared his throat.

"Sonar, reevaluate Yankee one and two."

"Both are idling at zero one eight Captain." The response came over the intercom. "estimate range for six thousand meters.

"Crew, my intention is to now fire two units, one at each of our targets. Weapons, load torpedoes in tubes one and two, full weapons safeties and set for low velocity."

"Aye sir." The call came down the hall as the order was relayed to the torpedo room at the fore of _Oregon_. "Units loaded, full safeties."

"Flood the tubes and open outer doors. Set the units on bearing zero three zero, trail them for five thousand and then turn to Yankee one and Yankee two and increase speed on my direction."

"Firing solution! Unit one set to Yankee one, unit two set to Yankee two. Fire sequence one and two , tubes ready in all respects Skipper!"

Captain Portman waited three beats of his heart and let out a breath. Here was his first war shots.

"Match generated bearings and shoot!"

"Fire one, fire two!" the Principle Weapons officer keyed the firing switches and a squelch ran through the sub as compressed air jetted the two torpedoes at their slowest – and therefore quietest – velocity. The Mark 48 ADCAP that the Navy still used had a silent running speed of twenty knots, as fast as a _Los Angeles _class nuclear attack sub. Once it closed the distance, you couldn't run from a torpedo.

Captain Portman was shooting away from the Chinese, he took his steps away from the attack center and into the Sonar station where a crewman handed him earphones so he could jack in and watch the monitor.

"watch the blue traces sir." Yesti said and pointed at a pair of blue lines that were heading just off to the right of the red contacts designated Yankee one and two – a Chinese missile submarine and her nuclear escort.

"There's the turn." Yesti pointed as the torpedoes changed direction. Portman stood up and keyed the intercom.

"Increase torpedoes to full velocity."

"Aye captain, units one and two making turns for forty knots." PWO responded-

"There they go! They heard them!" Yesti said as Portman heard the sudden squelch of water that meant the Chinese boats were increasing their blade counts to pick up speed. It was too late, two thousand meters at a broadside wouldn't be enough to get away-

"Torpedo in the water! Torpedo in the water bearing one eight zero heading…heading down the bearing of our units captain. Automatic pinging has not acquired." Yesti breathed a sigh of relief. It was a good tactic, shoot off a torpedo on the same bearing it was coming from. But that was why Portman had ordered his units to turn, so that they would be safely out of the way when the Chicomms did make their counterattack.

"That's a noisemaker." Yesti pointed out for the younger rating as a bright spoke appeared on the monitor blurring the outline of Yankee one, but Portman's torpedoes were still running on wire, passive sonars and therefore wouldn't be fooled by the use of decoys like that- two bright spokes appeared on the yankee one and yankee two contacts where the blue torpedo traces intersected.

"Hull break up noises!" Yesti clapped his hands and smiled. "Splash one and two."

Two submarines dead, two kills in Portman's first war. Not a bad day at all.


	20. Chapter 19

0800 Kongwon Bo mountains

The Chinese had really helped with their food problems. The little Korean Resistance force had raided six small convoys over the past week and now they had enough dried food and rice to last them a good couple months. That was a lot of food for seven hundred people. Witt walked around the little camp hidden in the mountains. They'd begun to spread out now, there were caves that had been cleared out and made habitable – they could cook safely in those caves – and the little resistance force had grown from thirty to sixty fighters, and Witt was pleased to see that not all of them were men.

_Juche_ encouraged women to be subservant to men although plenty women served in the Korean People's Army, very few of them were frontline fighters (hell the US was just beginning to let women see combat) and none ever achieved ranks higher than Captain. It was a sad effort to brainwash these women into serving their country by being nothing more than childbearers and labor factors. It was a fact that Witt had seen change with the addition of twenty of the new fighters being women. Slowly these seven hundred were beginning to grasp the idea of freedom from an oppressive government and they liked that. They would be using that to help them fight.

They were becoming more and more independent as well. They began looking after each other without needing Witt or any of the team's help so much, Witt didn't even participate in the last supply raid. Witt had his eyes set on a much bigger prize than the next food raid.

Cho had sent scouts out to search for other camps and there was a big one twenty miles around the mountains. They worked at shifting the granite for whatever the Democratic People's Republic of Korea decided they needed granite for. It was a perfect place to liberate. There were maybe a thousand prisoners there, but they were well stocked now that the Chinese were helping to resupply the Korean People's Army. They had ammunition, food, water, even portable power generators that Witt could use for his own camp in the mountains.

He'd need the full force for this one, the Chinese were vying for air superiority against PANTO now so there wouldn't be a Spooky he could count on. But Witt was confident his men and women could take care of themselves, so long as they did exactly what they had been trained to do for the past two weeks.

Their countrymen could be counting on them to do just that.

* * *

><p>0800 Vladivostock<p>

"…_President Kapalkin today has received a formal declaration of war from the Politburo against the People's Republic of China. At three o'clock this morning combat operations in Siberia have begun against the Chinese People's Liberation Army. This war against not only the People's Republic of China but also against the European Federation has some raised some criticism but President Kapalkin firmly stands by 'Russian strength and the heart of the people's will'. He urges citizens to prepare for strained times ahead but at the end of the tunnel, victory for the _Rodina…"

It was a nice way to start the morning, sour news over a bowl of cereal and soured milk. Blanco scoffed, spit out the vile liquid and rinsed her mouth in the sink to ensure she didn't get sick. She hadn't been out for food shopping in weeks and it was something that she deserved. Compressing the information and collating the report had taken days and then she had to remain inside her house (while appearing not to break her schedule) so that she could ensure that the dead drop site that Sam Fisher used for this sort of information was on at exactly the right minute because that security firewall and TAPDANCE scrambler was set to very specific times. She had already missed the portal twice and was so mad she kicked the wooden leg of her sofa and banged her toe up pretty bad.

But she had sent it in, just ten minutes ago after staying up the night because her insomnia had returned and she forgot to head to the pharmacist to get her some of the sleeping drugs. So she stayed up and waited for the specific time, 610, and shot the entire 6 gig email across the web.

Now with this news report, she could see that her information had come a little late. It was clear now why Russia was building up its border defense here while the entire European Federation was at war with it, they were preparing to expand their sphere of influence into China. Maybe even get involved with- wait the news reporter was mentioning something…

"…_committed troops to the liberation of the Korean people from the Dictator Kim Jong Un…"_

That explained the SGB units at the base. She hadn't seen them mobilize yet, although she _had_ been stuck inside her apartment for God knew how long. She hadn't even looked herself in the mirror for a couple of days. She probably looked like the wicked witch of the west right now. Well all of that would change today. She'd give herself a well deserved break. She'd spend the day at the _dacha_ get a nice sauna in and then restock on her food and make herself feel like a normal woman once again and not an intelligence officer working in what could possibly become a hostile country.

* * *

><p>2100 Washington DC<p>

"_It was on my authority sir. I'll take full responsibility_." CINCNORAD told the president over the video chat. He looked properly whipped at taking a full video conference from Becerra who wore a scowl that he reserved mostly for the Red Sox because he grew up in New York.

"This is why you tried to contact me half an hour ago?" Becerra asked. NORAD nodded.

"You did what you had to do." Becerra said although the scowl didn't leave his face. NORAD gave him a slow nod in return, hiding his surprise well.

"Can you give me an update on our strategic defense though? What dangers do we have in terms of ballistic threats?"

"We believed originally that all of the Iranian/Saudi warheads were destroyed in their war. Obviously this is incorrect." NORAD began. Then looked behind him as someone muttered something and returned to his explanation. "From this we have to assume that there are still ballistic missiles out there either in the middle east or in countries we are unaware of and are not allied with the United States. Countries such as China or Russia or the European Federation."

"We can rule out the EF." Becerra pointed out. "they helped us develop the missile shield and so they'll know that ICBM attacks are useless now."

"We know that Russia and China have been expanding on their antisatellite warfare techniques considerably in the past decade, experimenting between electronic jamming to direct attacks. The Russians in particular started their attack on the Federation with Anti-satellite missiles which, if used against the United States could follow up with a ballistic inbound."

"Is that possible?"

"With our satellites either destroyed or executing evasive manuevers, Mr. President, we'll have next to nothing when it comes to destroying an inbound missile."

"And we know the launch sites of the Chinese?"

"Yes Mr. President, we've had a few discreet KH-20 satellite flyovers and they haven't created anything new, although they have performed successful test launches into the Pacific. It gave our boys a hard time back here." NORAD shifted uneasily with the memory of it.

"Let me link you to the conference." Becerra said and flipped a switch on the computer phone, mouthing a _thank you_ to the secretary as he stepped back into the oval office where NORAD's blank screen was now replaced by his video.

"Gentlemen I believe we were discussing possibilities of a dual war against Russia and China in this theater."

"Yes Mr. President." General Mitchell responded.

"I just received an email from Third Echelon sir." Director Mahan said. "It says President Kapalkin has just declared war against China and has begun offensives in Siberia."

"No word of that to _us_." General Air Force pointed out.

"Bad news." COMPACFLT nodded in kind.

"Ivan has a big army, they could squash the Chinese with what they have in theater, but there isn't much reason to attack us-"

"Quiet." Becerra stood and the others hushed. One of the decent things about being president was that when you spoke, people had to listen.

"NORAD has just informed me that we have the coordinates of the Chinese Nuclear Launch Silos and we all know that we've begun combat operations against the Chinese fleet." Becerra looked at COMPACFLT and received a stiff nod.

"We'll stay away from Russia for now, China is our biggest threat." Becerra said. "And the biggest weapon they can throw at us will be their nukes."

"If we want to take those out, I suggest B-2 Spirits or F-117 Nighthawks with GBU-12 bunkerbusters." General Air Force said. "We can get them in theater in four days or more, there's already a pair of B-2s operating off of Tokyo without any major targets."

"This needs to be a political act." Becerra said. "We'll be using a much more _direct_ means to show the Chinese and the Russians that we have the power to put an end to whatever they plan to do with Korea right then and there. NORAD." Becerra looked at his screen. "I'm releasing authorization for Kinetic weapon's strikes on all the Chinese Silos. They are away from civilian areas correct?"

"Yes Mr. President, most are located in the Gobi desert and only maintain a small perimeter guard force for defense. Metal caps to protect against bombs but nothing that will hold out against Rods from God." NORAD nodded.

"Any chance of retaliation from the Europeans or the Russians?"

"The Europeans might orient a Tactical High Energy Laser Satellite to fire on our Kinetic Weapons Platforms but its unlikely, most of those have drawn over Western Europe and they don't have the proper angle to shoot at ours. The Russians and Chinese do have antisatellite resources in that area so that could complicate things but it can be done."

"How soon?"

"Give me half an hour to come up with the plan, maybe another half hour to an hour to execute it?"

"Do it." Becerra nodded. "Right now. We don't want any more nukes to fly."

"Yes Mr. President."

"I think that concludes tonight's briefing gentlemen." Becerra nodded to the others. "NORAD link me up to your tactical computer please, I want to watch the action from here."

NORAD nodded and winked out. Becerra sat back down in his office chair and rubbed his temples. Things were happening so quickly, he wasn't used to this kind of decision making back in the Marine Corp. a decision made here, not as President of the United States but as Commander in Chief of the Armed Forces affected billions that he technically had no control over. And yet with a tiny flick of his finger he could end the lives of billions of people globally. Things were simple in this room and were made to be simple. One man couldn't be expected to know everything about his country let alone the world.

His first and only duty in a time of crisis like this (Becerra had been very frugal with his Congressional Emergency powers, using them only when he needed to because an Emperor looked bad on CNN political commentary) was to the protection of the welfare and interests of the American people. And if that meant risking his ICBM shield to do it, he would have to. The Marines had taught him to strike first and debate later. Things were always more complicated in hindsight.


	21. Chapter 20

1910 – Cheyenne mountain

"Get me San Diego and LA." CINCNORAD hadn't even had time for a victory coffee before American Eagle was sending him off on another assignment. NORAD knew he had gotten off easy, shooting a WMD on what was originally supposed to be a computer simulated exercise was something that didn't come off lightly. Those six rods expended would probably be coming out of NORAD's paycheck. NORAD pinched the bridge of his nose while the XO linked up the two Satellite Uplink sites in San Diego and Los Angeles which controlled KWP-16 and KWP-26, _Abraham Lincoln_ and _Theodore Roosevelt_.

The base commanders winked onto the computer screens demanding to know why the hell they were at DEFCON 1 and-

"Save it." NORAD said. "Let's leave at it for now that everything you have heard so far has been true. Now let's move on, this OP comes straight from American Eagle himself." That shut the two base commanders up. Becerra winked onto another screen, joining the conversation, the two colonels in command of the sites brushed themselves and their disheveled Air Force uniforms up to some sort of presentable standard.

"We need to take out the Chinese Missile Silo sites, can we do that?" NORAD began.

"If they haven't moved any of them, definitely." San Diego responded almost immediately. "Our past orbital scans have listed those sites far away, perfect for a Kinetic Weapon strike. There shouldn't be any civilian casualties whatsoever."

"Ground strikes are about the only thing our men are drilled for anyway." Los Angeles backed up San Diego. "What are the official numbers?"

"China has a hundred and eighteen ballistic warheads stored at six different sites and sixty more on missile boats." NORAD told them, quite aware that Becerra hadn't said anything yet and had merely reduced himself to the role of an observer. "You are both confident that you can hit those targets?"

"Our platforms are working in synch with _Andrew Jackson_ off Honolulu sir." San Diego said. "SOP because of DEFCON 1."

Right. It was so late, NORAD had briefly forgotten that Defcon 1 automatically put those satellites in Geosynchronous orbit above the furthest most Uplink site.

"Is Honolulu up yet?" NORAD looked to the XO.

"They're trying to get him to base." XO nodded.

"Continue." NORAD gestured with his hand. San Diego looked around for a moment and then straight back at the screen.

"We have a lot of factors to consider. For the most part it looks easy, we just move our platforms above China, send them Rods from God and that'll be that. If we fire at full velocity we should get upper crust penetration with a depth of two miles and a shock zone of about sixteen mile radius from the point of impact."

"Things get more problematic though, as we enter Chinese airspace, we know they've been testing ASAT missiles and they've gotten rather good at them. From what we know, we assume that if they have their weapon aimed and ready, and most of them _would_ be ready if they are in a state of war, then they can aquire and shoot in two to three minutes."

"What about Russia?" Becerra spoke causing the others to jump slightly.

"Russia has about the same capabilities." NORAD said after a short pause.

"Should we factor this into the equation too sir?" Los Angeles asked. Becerra nodded.

"Your approach will be more southernly then." NORAD told them, hug the equator and swing them north and then scoot them back as quick as you can without losing control."

"Yes sir. Also, recommend we put _Jackson_ on alert as well." Los Angeles said. "Things can get dicey up in those neck of the woods and we might need covering fire."

"Mr. President?" NORAD turned. It was the Commander in Chief's decision to risk strategic weapons like a Kinteic Weapons Platform.

"Do it." Becerra said and stroked his goatee.

San Diego and Los Angeles winked out and went to work and all NORAD could do was sit there and wait while they planned out their full operation. They were finally finished after half an hour.

"Run it through me." NORAD ordered, now Honolulu was online but apparently his XO had brought him up to speed because it appeared he knew everything that was going on.

"_Lincoln, Roosevelt, _and _Jackson_ will boost through to the target via this route on grid seven zero niner." San Diego explained as the holoprojector inside NORAD's office winked online to show the operational plan. "At checkpoint Alpha, _Jackson_ will stay back while _Lincoln_ and _Roosevelt_ proceed to their Area of Operations over here at grid eight zero six."

A portion of the globe flashed blue, far off from the missile sites. Becerra noticed that.

"For safety reasons, we'll be shooting at a thirty three degree down angle." San Diego explained. "That will give us a better window and less risk in terms of retaliation. We'll also be preprogramming the flight and burn paths so that our enemies have a smaller strike window. Computer calculated that if weapons are prespooled and retros are prepped then locking in, shooting and perform a four cycle evasive burn shouldn't take anymore than four minutes. Chinese ASAT missiles will average six or seven minutes to reach our platforms in which any case we'll be long gone."

"We're taking into account that there might be a few Chinese missiles faster than that, so _Jackson_ will be angled toward our escape burns to ensure that pursuing inbounds are eliminated." Los Angeles finished.

"Will the angle affect the way the silos will be destroyed?" Becerra asked.

"Not so you would notice Mr. President." NORAD said. "The missiles will be destroyed, and if there are anymore we have our third platform on a covering position."

"It sounds good." Becerra nodded. "How long?"

"We have our weapons already on the move, operation time should take twenty seven point six minutes." San Diego told them.

"XO, put it through to the Ops center." NORAD stepped out of his office while the XO punched in commands for everything to be routed into the Operations center where NORAD's staff continued to work, even after destroying that missile that had almost dropped on Israel. The blue traces of the Kinetic Weapons platforms were already moving towards China. The audio was blared through the center's intercom.

"_All systems nominal."_

"_Confirmed, green light on operation."_

"_Targets one through six tallied. Copy, operation is go."_

"_Beginning adjustment burns now. Weapons spooling up. Automatic control is still in effect."_

"_ABM-16 is receiving numerous radar locks, counting one zero ground based radar locks at this time…"_

"_ABM-26 counting seven radar locks…"_

"_Continue on Automatic."_

It was a race against time now, if the computer could lock in all six targets, shoot and then begin its evasive burns before the Chinese missiles could counter then it would be a clean operation. If the computer malfunctioned, then the results could be argued as massacre, a Rod from God fired at the set speeds would flatten a small city.

"_Orienting burns…stabilizing…targets acquired, fire sequence one through six set!"_

"_Tracking… Weapon has acquired target sequence!"_

"_Shoot sequence on directed vectors and execute evasive burns!"_

"_Splashes away!"_

On the hologram projection, the two symbols representing _Lincoln_ and _Roosevelt_ were now joined by smaller symbols of rising missiles, but as quick as NORAD's eye could blink, the two Kinetic Weapons platforms fired their Rods from God as they swept across the orbital plane, releasing all six rods in a span of three seconds.

The Tungsten fin equipped weapons sped off toward their targets, two Rods to each Silo site. Hurled three quarters as fast the speed of light, the protective heat shields on the nosecone of each rod was burned off in reentry and the air friction burned off the directional fins and ate away at the depleted uranium rod itself. The depleted uranium disintegrated so quickly that by the time it plummeted into the ground, the once sixteen meter long rod was reduced to a two meter length.

The result however, was undeniably spectacular.

At one half the speed of light, each Rod performed exactly to computer calculations, causing earth tremors and shockwaves so violent the facilities that housed the Chinese nuclear missiles collapsed on themselves, the fuel depots which were set aside went up in balls of flame just from the sheer force of air friction caused by the shockwave and buildings in a sixteen mile radius (usually just the defense barracks and command complexes) were flattened or tossed into the air like so many sticks in a hurricane.

This was not shown on the holoprojector, only the bright red symbols accompanied by an excited _"Splash one through six! All targets destroyed!"_

The satellites began their evasive burns immediately, darting away on their retros toward friendly airspace so quickly that the Chinese ASAT weapons couldn't keep up. It was a textbook mission NORAD had officially carried out for the first time. Two successful missions in less than an hour of each other. It was a good night in NORAD's book.

"Well done NORAD." Was all Becerra had to say before he winked off the screen. NORAD could have sworn there was a small grin before American Eagle disappeared.

* * *

><p>2140 – Washington DC<p>

Becerra was not a happy man. With the kinetic strike coming to a close the President thought that he might actually be able to do what normal Americans did at this time: _sleep_. Unfortunately, a quick gesture from General Mitchell to the Pacific Theater map changed all that.

Tides of crimson symbols, not to be confused with the lighter red symbols that represented both the Chinese and the North Korean Forces, poured over the Russian border.

"That was as of twenty one hundred Mr. President." Mitchell said sourly.

"How many troops?"

"The Russians are pushing across a eight hundred kilometer front with ten type A shock armies." Mitchell said and gestured at the Russian spearhead advances. "They've already struck at bases in Blagovechensk and are cutting through Kazakhastan to hit them across their line."

"Still no attempts of talk between the Russians?" General Army asked Becerra who shook his head.

"None. Not that I expected anyway."

"I recommend we activate the rest of the Pacific fleet for that one Mr. President." Head Admiral said. "I have 5th and 6th fleet elements operating in the Phillipines at this time and the Joint Strike Force units in San Diego and Los Angeles are as ready as they will ever be."

"How long will the transit take?" Becerra looked at Mitchell for this one.

"6th and 8th JSF will need to be ferried a battalion at a time. Best we can do is by plane-"  
>"We're already using planes to transfer regular Army troops to the front sir." General Army pointed out. "and also more of the strategic air fleet will be used to deploy into Iceland."<p>

"I've talked with Canada's Prime minister about that one." Becerra said. "Canada Air will be ferrying our troops to Iceland along with British Airways so our logistics are out of our hands in that sector. And I think that Mitchell's troops will be needing priority passes onto those planes. Let's get them loaded."

"Right away sir." Mitchell nodded. General Army looked as though someone had left a surprise inside his boots.

"What can we expect in terms of the Russians?" Becerra looked to General Army to sweeten him up again.

"Most of those forces are arrayed against China. However there are two shock armies pushing from Vladivostock at this time." General Army pointed to Korea. "Our forces should just be arriving in theater, and the Russians should greatly relieve the pressure on that front. Our boys in Pusan look like they're hanging by the skin of their teeth."

Becerra looked at the map where the light red had enveloped almost the entirety of Korea save for the little port city of Pusan. It looked more like they had already lost those teeth from where Becerra stood.


	22. Chapter 21

0800 – Pusan

The Chinese tactics didn't really differ from the North Koreans and that was something Swedo was pleased about. Massed infantry attacks supported by tanks and artillery instead of mass tank attacks supported by infantry and artillery told Swedo the people in China had spent their time playing far too many shooter games.

Chinese training and equipment far outstripped the Skinnies, their infantry were using Crosscoms and a good if rather primitive Heads Up Display, something that Swedo might have found the US Army using six years ago and the Ghosts had been using for twenty years. But the fact that every one of their soldiers was equipped with advanced technology, knew how to aim and shoot and move did not mean that their tactics were worth a _damn_.

"Hey, it looks like their getting ready for another. Platoon, _stand to._" Swedo tossed the cigarette into the muddy water that had pooled at the bottom of the trench. It had been raining the past two days, when the fighting had begun and the field of cabbages in front of the line of trenches were just beginning to flower. Two days of constant attacks and artillery barrages left the vegetables trampled beneath boots, shells, tracks and had turned it into a muddy mess that smelled so foul Swedo now made it a habit to wrap his ACU patterned bandanna up to his nose whenever he wasn't eating or smoking.

He didn't even smoke, just picked up the habit in field. Swedo found it helped relieve the shakes. The other men in his platoon tossed their cards into the little caves (Bunny holes, someone had called them and the name stuck) that had served as their living quarters and climbed up to the firing steps. Swedo had his organized first and hoped others would follow his example, his ammunition was easily in reach, just six inches away from his left hand, and there was a small hole to catch the expended cartridges his SCAR ejected. He had even dug little nooks for his elbows to steady his aim without exposing too much of his upper body. In the last battle in combination with his custom sights, he had accuracy almost three hundred yards down range. Swedo charged the handle of his rifle and aimed as the others did the same down the line.

Overhead, artillery screamed and slammed into the mud in front of him, word must have gotten out and the artillery was throwing something in. Artillery deployed antitank mines burrowed straight into the ground. The terrain was good for that, the rain fell so thickly that mud would pour onto the mines and bury them before the enemy could mark the positions. If Swedo understood correctly, that would force an infantry charge to cover the engineers which would clear the way for tanks. He hoped that the Chinese didn't bring helicopters this way although Swedo had Javelins loaded with SAMs for that eventuality.

He'd volunteered his men for frontline combat and God damn it, Swedo was going to kill to his heart's content.

"I got movement," Bowman called out. "Range eight hundred, I think that's a sniper."

"Go ahead." Swedo said.

"Okay…thirty degree crosswind from the east…" Bowman muttered, and Swedo heard the slow inhale to steady the lungs, and then a sharp exhale – in that instant where the air was completely forced out of his lungs therefore making Bowman as steady as he would ever get, Bowman fired his Marksman's rifle.

"Delta hotel." Bowman grinned after the flat crack of the rifle echoed across the lines. The Chinese took that as their cue and charged, roaring as a horde. They came sprinting across the field, weapons held to their hips. None of the enemy tried to shoot yet. Swedo had specifically ordered his men to hold their fire until the enemy reached five hundred yards-

Swedo got the first shots in, stitching two in the chest of what looked like a lieutenant from his scope sights and the rest of the line opened up as well. The Chinese infantry for the most part, dropped whether from bullet impacts or from their own self preservation instincts. Here is where the Chinese got nasty in Swedo's experience, they brought automatic grenade launchers along and were already beginning to rain grenades down on Swedo's platoon. Flat thunderclaps was all Swedo could hear aside from the faint chatter of automatic weapons fire as red tracers licked out from both sides, mud jumped up spiraled and fell back down and the call for _medic_ rang down the line.

How many times had Swedo popped down to reload? He had lost count, his magazines were almost neatly discarded at the bottom of the firing step and it was only now that Swedo began to hear the screams of the Chinese down range. They certainly must have been loud if he could hear them over the sound of gunfire and explosions. Swedo popped back up and sighted on a soldier who was trying to hold his insides…inside of him. Swedo would stop those screams soon. It would only take a stroke of his finger.

* * *

><p>0800 – Tokyo<p>

It _sucked_ being grounded. Cotugno technically hadn't been grounded since his days in highschool, but for some reason the fact that his fighter was grounded for repairs felt a thousand times worse. It was an insult to be shot, and an even bigger one to have to limp away. He was so furious Cotugno might have requested transfer into another squadron, so what if they flew an F-15? Anything to be flying again!

It didn't suit him to pace around the ready room waiting for the other three squadmates to return. On the plus side it was nice to see so many more American faces in theater now, with the arrival of US Air Force pilots with their own Raptors, F-35s and even a quartet of B-2 spirits. Parts for missile sled systems had come in theater just the day before and Cotugno could only drool when he thought of the possibilities a stealth bomber capable of carrying forty bombs was capable of when it was converted to an air to air weapon slaved to Cotugno's Air acquisition radar. He'd done tests with the B-1 Lancer and even fourteen AMRAAMS were completely devastating, and the new SLAMRAAM was supposed to be able to lock and kill at ranges of eighty miles. That was death from over _three_ horizons.

But he couldn't actually _do _any of that and he knew the ground crews were working as quickly as they could. It didn't help the fact that Cotugno was still grounded.

* * *

><p>0800 – CVN-1 <em>USS Enterprise<em>

"Morning sir." The sailor attending to Admiral Mahan said as he opened the cabin door. Mahan was already dressed and only inhaled the sea spray from the open porthole.

"Smell that sailor?" Mahan asked.

"Yes sir." He said dumbly. He was probably a greenhorn, his first trip at sea, political connections to keep him as safe as possible without doing any work. Mahan had gotten this post by himself. How could this green horn political weenie understand what a sailor was supposed to be smelling? How could this young sailor know the nuances and differences of different seas, like telling the difference between a pair of excellent fine wines?

"I'll take my coffee in the CDC." Mahan said and turned. The sailor could only have been as old as nineteen. He still had this awkwardness about him but showed more confidence than most greenhorns in front of the Admiral. This was definitely a political boy. Perhaps he was preparing for a lecture from the old man is why the boy looked down toward his shoes in confusion. Mahan had nothing to tell to someone who wouldn't learn. The sailor saluted while attempting to balance the coffee tray and morning reports in one hand and stepped smartly out the cabin door.

Mahan turned and breathed in the sea air once again. It was wonderful, mixed with a faint scent of exotic plants that were as new and as wild as modern music to Mahan. Mahan had never been to the Koreas before although he had visited Taiwan during a tour and the sea smelled very similar to the Japaneses and Korea seas. It smelled like a place worth fighting for.

Mahan took one last sniff and stepped out the cabin and strode down the hallway to the Combat Direction Center. They were officially in a combat zone now, and the 7th fleet and its PANTO allies were placed at a Condition 2 alert with four fighters from each of the four carriers on a combat air patrol twenty four hours a day, supported by three AWACs birds and a fueler.

The PANTO fleet's subs were already raising hell in AO YANKEE, F-35E Queer flights had picked up emissions from emergency buoys from all four of China's nuclear missile subs which was definitely a good thing. He couldn't exactly communicate with his sub drivers but that was part of their efficiency. Submarines were lone wolves, hunting in the silent depths of the ocean to sneak up and destroy their targets and its crew with cold and clear cut efficiency.

The CDC was bustling with activity, the six meter by six meter room at the heart of _Enterprise_ was completely dark save for the flickering screens of computers and the massive touch holodisplay that dominated the center of the room. This was the masterpiece of the Digital Age, where technology and warfare were combined to create the most lethal intelligence devices known to man. Intelligence was warfare, no warrior operated without knowing at least a little intelligence about the enemy and the holodisplay allowed Mahan up to the _second_ information of any conflicts his fleet was having. There was no more obscure listening to his sailors call out information to him like a reading different parts of a book at the same time. There was only cool and clean information that Mahan could quite literally reach out and touch.

"Morning sir. Black knights are being shifted to alert five and we're outfitting Gunslinger one and two to shoot off in ten seconds." The Captain of _Enterprise_, James Marshall said and sipped his morning cup of joe.

"Nothing on the Chinese fleet?" Mahan scanned the board which was zoomed out to show the entire Yellow Sea, the PANTO fleet was slipping into the Sea of Japan through the south at this moment and a clash between the two carrier fleets was only a matter of who found who first. Mahan hoped it was his, from the reports he'd read of the Atlantic fleet, he did not want his ships subject to heavy bomber raids and Air to Surface missiles like the EXOCET.

"Not so far, but we have Buckeye squad on patrol for them." Captain Marshall pointed to the cluster of triangles that were now splitting off in AO YANKEE. "they'll find them."

"Push the BARCAP out to a hundred miles and put up another squadron." Mahan said. "I don't want those Chinese to find out exactly where we are."

"Another tanker up too?" Marshall suggested.

"Do it. And let's shift our ASW elements northward. I got a notification from the Pentagon that the Russians might be itching for a fight."

"Yes sir. I think if we get _Majestic,_ _Manassas _and _Little Bighorn_ up there our northern front will be solid. What about the south though?"

"Australian subs are working down there." Mahan nodded. "the southern ASW can pick off what they leave."

"Amen." Marshall agreed.

War worked like that for Mahan, one got the feel of the battlefield through his senses, and then the commander would be able to hold it in his mind, leading his men to victory. That is what would happen here, Mahan was confident. He would lead this fleet to victory.


	23. Chapter 22

0800 – AO YANKEE _USS Oregon_

Three hours of silent stalking, dips, dives and sprints had come down to these crucial seconds.

"Fire sequence set!" the Principle Weapons officer called from his station. "flooding tubes two three and four, opening outer doors!"

"Set Yankee pattern search for all units, cut wires immediately and prepare for crash dive. All stations sound off!" Captain Portman snapped. He'd personally conned _Oregon_ for the entire day, picking up the heavy cruiser contact four hours ago along with its two escorts, a pair of destroyers that flanked it and changed their bearing and datum's so well Portman had to duck under the thermal layer to lose them several times. Now all three targets, Kilos one two and three, were lined up at thirty, zero and thirty degrees from the bow, perfectly lined shots. He'd snap three shots at the contacts, dive under dropping a countermeasure to lead off any sort of counterattack, and then sprint in close, pop up and finish the cruiser with a single Mark 48 ADCAP. Those destroyers were nice targets but that cruiser was something that could give the fleet a hard time.

"Countermeasures go!"

"Diving go!"

"Engineering, go!"

The crew stations sounded ready in sequence.

"Match generated bearings and shoot!" Portman snapped a finger at the PWO who keyed off all three torpedoes in rapid sequence.

"Two three and four fired electrically! Units running hot!" he shouted.

"Conn, Sonar, units have passively acquired targets, making full turns for forty knots-"

Portman snapped his finger next to the countermeasure station who punched off a pair of noisemakers to create a fuzzy sound bubble in the water that would obscure USS Oregon's sonar profile from passive searches. USS Oregon dipped beneath his feet, nosing downward in a quick dive as the submarines screws kicked up its speed to make twenty knots at a twenty degree down angle to duck below the thermal layer again and become silent.

"Start the clock X." Portman nodded to Grifen who pulled out his stopwatch and clicked the timer. It was five minutes of straight running.

"They're really banging on the active sonar's up there Skipper." Sonar reported over the intercom. "no break up noises. Our units have lost the targets."

"That's what we thought." The XO said without looking away from his watch. "Time, ten seconds."

"Make your depth eight hundred, full rise on the bow planes. Cut speed to one third silent running, flood tube one and open outer door."

USS _Oregon _emerged silently from the Thermal layer-

"Conn, Sonar, kilo one two and three have been acquired, bearing zero two seven, zero three two and zero four six. Range two thousand to Kilo one, going south at the datum. Speed…blade turns for thirty knots."

"PWO!"

"Kilo one acquired bearing zero three two, tube flooded and outer door open. Ready in all respects Captain!"

"Match generated bearings and _shoot!"_

"Fire one! One fired electrically!"

"Unit's running hot-they heard it! Kilo one change in bearing, heading zero six two- _Torpedo in the water! Torpedo in the water bearing zero four niner-"_

"Cut the wires, unit one to alpha search, countermeasures!" the XO ordered.

"Aye sir!"

"Full stop, level the planes!" Captain Portman barked over the intercom where the message reached the engineering room. The screws stopped instantly and abruptly, suddenly cutting USS _Oregon's_ forward momentum and the submarine dropped like a lead casket, faster than the noisemaker could. It ducked under the thermal layer while the diving officers counted the depth, only another six hundred meters to crush depth-

"All ahead flank, full rise on the planes!" Captain Portman shouted. Things were frantic in the red lit attack center and the thing about the Navy was that this kind of warfare didn't let the steam out the way the Joint Strike Force boys did, where they could physically see their target and rain steel on it. It must have been very satisfying for them. Portman was stuck in what was essentially a steel coffin where he could neither see or touch his enemy. Only blast holes in it from several miles distance.

"Torpedo has lost target." Sonar breathed. Then he waited for the nose of USS _Oregon_ to breach the thermal layer so that he could use the bow sonar to listen on the progress of the Mk48-"

"Splash one! That's a hit! Hull and break up noises at zero six niner!"

"All ahead one third, silent running everyone." Portman breathed and wiped sweat off his forehead. "Bring her up to periscope depth."

It was a painstakingly long climb to eighty meters, Portman removed his glasses and squinted into the glass to get a look. Hot damn! Smoke billowed from the grey form of a massive ship with its six bow six inch rifles pointing skyward in a massive list to port. The torpedo had done what it had been designed for, detonating under the spine of the ship sending a shockwave directed straight upward at a single point to snap it in two, only the cruiser was made of much sterner stuff. It had not, however, stopped it from apparently blowing the powder magazine to high hell and taking a good portion of the midships portside with it.

If Portman had been driving any other kind of boat, he would have considered rescue operations. Those were people manning that cruiser after all and enemies or not, they were people and were also valuable intelligence assets. Being a submarine captain however, Portman did not have the luxury of mercy available to him. His only option was selfish survival. _USS Oregon_ disappeared into the depths.

* * *

><p>0800 – Vladivostock<p>

Okay so maybe the SVU wasn't as harsh as Blanco thought they were. Maybe it was all the spy movies she had watched or maybe it was all the stories some of the ex CIA folks she knew had told her. But an agent had walked up to her house and she'd invited him in for coffee and they'd just discussed what she did. She hadn't lied once in the interview. She was enrolled at the local university, studying neurology. Yes she was born in the United States but she moved here. Yes she loved her former country, but her job was much more important to her. It only took thirty minutes, minus ten minutes of small talk as the SVU officer walked around her apartment and remarked how tidy it was for a college student. Blanco had always been rather good at keeping her things in order.

She figured she'd been tailed for awhile, she couldn't always identify who her tail was but she could generally pick them out, whether it was a student or some old man. Blanco was being watched. But that was okay, her routine was completely normal for a Russian student at the university and she hadn't used any of her encrypted equipment and codes for days. Blanco showed up to take her midterm on the nerve responses of the cerebral cortex and had just finished her essay when her cell phone vibrated violently with a text message. The grad student proctoring the exam shot her a glare.

"Sorry." Blanco said and flicked a glance at her phone: SINKER was what had sent her the message. Fisher had orders for her and had sent them via TAPDANCE. That meant extra work tonight but she was okay with that. This normal routine had gotten boring anyway.

She walked home, making sure to jog pass the Army base to keep up the image that she did this often and when she got home she immediately headed for the lavatory swept it for listening or imaging devices with clicks of her cell phone. It was safe. She turned the steam on the shower up so that if filled the bathroom just in case and then she opened the decryption hardware she stored inside an alcohol napkin box and jacked it into her phone to begin the decryption. In the mean time she took a shower.

By the time she had finished cleaning herself an entire half hour had passed but the decryption was complete. Now there was only the final reordering of the randomized TAPDANCE code into her computer. She activated her touchscreen laptop and took it into the bathroom where the steam continued to billow.

TO:WHITEWASH

SUBJECT: STUDIES AND OBSERVATION

WHITEWASH, the information you have passed on to the National Security Agency was vital to the national interest and your work is greatly, if not publicly, appreciated. Your new directive is:

Continue your covert operation.

Begin operations to acquire Vladivostock's satellite Uplink protective firewall codes.

Upload RETIMANGER virus into the computer network (see attached files for instructions and package).

Needless to say directives two and three are to remain covert and are to be completed in one weeks time. LETHAL FORCE IS AUTHORIZED FOR THE SAKE OF THE NATIONAL INTEREST.

Blanco stared at the last few lines to make sure she understood what Fisher was implying she do. She'd heard stories of what 3rd echelon had done in the past, sneaking into Russian bases during the Ultranationalist movement to upload communications viruses. Blanco would be doing that now. Well not necessarily now, her directive could be accomplished in a week.

But there were a lot of things she had to do before that, a week was hardly enough time to infiltrate and execute a full operation wasn't it? She had to recce the base, find out where everything was placed, label guard shifts, the guard detail the time of vulnerability and how their schedule-

No. she had done all of this before. That was what her assignment had been for the past couple of months. To observe the base and study it down to the minute detail. All Blanco had to do was look over her own notes and prepare for this final exam.

The risks of her being caught were enormous, sneaking onto a Russian base with Spetsnaz special forces troops wasn't exactly for someone with a weak constitution. Blanco took a deep breath and walked over to the closet where she pulled out the hidden Wraith .22 and silencer. She'd be needing to use this at least once by the end of this week. She' have to spend most of her time "studying".

Blanco wouldn't get caught without a fight.

* * *

><p>0800 – Kongwong Bo mountains.<p>

There were now fifteen hundred people living in these mountains. Not just surviving. L_iving_. Food was becoming plentiful as the Chinese and Korean People's Army lost control of the local roads and rice fields, the resistance network was spreading. They had enough explosives to try to detonate a bridge fifty miles away and Lieutenant Cho had said that at least 6 other rebel camps were now operating under the guidance of him. These people knew how to _fight_ when it came down to it, Witt was very pleased about that. Witt very rarely went on the raids himself now, and allowed himself to take orders from Lieutenant Cho who turned out to be a very sharp and brilliant leader when it came to leading his freed people. Of course there were the arguments and the fights that had broken out, but they were few and far between and the wrongdoers accepted their punishments grudgingly. Little huts had been constructed and now dotted the mountain ranges to serve as shelter. The sixty man army had now become three hundred fighters strong and a hundred of those had dispersed amongst the land to disrupt the Chinese and Korean People's Army further away and to train new fighters when they raided more prison camps.

The squad had become tight now, Witt knew everyone. Except Long. Long continued to remain distant and often challenged Witt albeit subtly. Witt had exclusively declared civilian targets to be untouched. But for some reason Long kept leaning on stealing from the civilian stores.

"We can't keep relying on the Chinese army forever." Long pointed out. "and those people are the enemy."

"Those people are _their_ people." Witt jerked a head to Cho who was instructing a group of teenagers proper marksmanship.

"But they're the enemy."

"I'm _not_ going to turn this group into a band of terrorists." Witt metaphorically put his foot down. "If we attack indiscriminately than the locals will learn to fear us more than their Dear Leader."

"If you _don't_ attack them sooner or later _sir_, we could be stuck here for _years_. This operation needs to be done quick and clean." Witt caught a slight twitch in Long's trigger finger, a subtle flex that accompanied the hard stare.

"I'm operational lead here." Witt added a slight edge to his voice. Long looked like he was about to say something and then scoffed and stormed off. Witt hoped he didn't do anything stupid. He would have to check up on him; Long was still the only mystery in the squad.


	24. Chapter 23

1800 – Washington DC

"News for you on the TV sir." One of the secret security agents said. Becerra set the evening newspaper down at the table. He'd grown up reading the newspaper, he'd continue to support it. Tradition was very important to Becerra, who'd grown up as the only son of a migrant worker family. He hadn't received a middle school education, or even much a of a highschool one. Hometown Daggart county Idaho had gone through so many budget cuts that the students were actually required to bring in their own paper. After two tours with the United States Marine Corp, Becerra had gone to college graduating with a law degree and had gone into politics. And now he was here, still reading the newspaper in a day and age when the fastest and easiest form of news was at the tip of everyone's fingers, just clicks away on the cell phone.

"I'll take it here." President Becerra signaled to the flatscreen placed on the dining table. Dominique looked up from her pasta and cocked her head.

"Russia if I were to guess." POTUS shrugged and snapped a finger at the flatscreen to turn it on.

"Do you think they would do something like that?" FLOTUS wrapped an arm around him and brushed cheeks.

"Anyone's guess." Becerra said. Even _he_ wasn't sure how to deal with the new ultranationalist regime that had taken over so many years before. The US had only maintained tiny diplomatic relations with them.

The screen booted for a moment as it connected with the iridium television network and then cut to CNN which was playing feed from the Russian state television network.

"That video is being broadcast across the country sir, our satellites in Japan picked it up." The agent told Becerra as he read the translation…

"Is this accurate?" Becerra said as he paused the screen to focus on the lines that deliberately said _Shot down over Russian airspace_. "Get the Joint Chiefs-

"Waiting in the Office for you sir." The agent jerked his head.

"Honey?" Domique gave him a little squeeze and made to leave. Becerra placed his hand on hers, he hadn't spent enough time with her recently and she had to understand what the president did. He should have no secrets from the woman who had helped him through hell and back to reach this post. Becerra lead them to the Oval Office which was surprisingly empty save for the flickering flatscreens which were being lowered and powered up. All the chiefs were online almost in Unison and muttered the usual greeting and hesitated just for a second as they noticed FLOTUS standing among them as well. To her they muttered "Madam First Lady" a little bit more enthusiastically than Becerra was greeted.

"Okay." Becerra offered Dominique his office chair which she gracefully declined, signaling for a stool for her to sit on behind the oak desk. "So the Russians say they've been provoked."

"Yes Mr. President." EASTCOM said and occasionally flicked his eyes off the camera. He was probably watching the CNN feed. "We lost an F-15 X-ray one five zero at about zero hour local time, he was flying escort for a supply drop to the Korean resistance force and we think a SAM popped him on the overhead protective circle-

"What about the supplies? What was on the plane the fighter was protecting?" Dominique interrupted.

"Almost all of it food and medicine Madame First Lady." EASTCOM said with a little embarrassment. Becerra noticed a slight shift of relief in his wife's shoulders. "The Special Forces team operating in the mountains of North Korea are strained to the bone to try to feed and care for the people that have joined them. Not all of them are guerilla fighters but they've all been in one of those camps that are everywhere in the country."

"Concentration camps." Becerra said for his wife's benefit.

"Quite so Mr. President." EASTCOM nodded. "But only that fighter was lost, the C-130 managed to drop its cargo at the correct drop zone and wild weasel fighters were directed to its escort after the initial shootdown."

"Are we sure it was a Russian weapon? Modern, I mean. The Koreans use Russian weapons but I mean the modern Russian kind." Becerra asked.

"Most definitely." General Air Force said. "the F-15 doesn't have powerful enough countermeasures to successfully deflect the newer Russian Smart Missiles, the jamming pods on the Eagles in theater can't successfully deflect them. The Japanese are helping refit the fighters they have with more powerful jamming."

"The Russians took the shootdown as an excuse to deploy its armies in Vladivostock and we expect them to be crossing the North Korean border tonight and their Navy should be casting off from the port in Kamatchka with full steam."

"Can we _handle_ a war with Russia?" Becerra asked. "The resources we have in theater-"

"Are strained but if we play this one smart, we can pull it off." EASTCOM promised. "their Navy might have the best shooters in the East but we've got the best troops."

"How many units are we looking at here?" Becerra rubbed his temples.

"We have all the Vladivostock troops, 2nd, 3rd and 5th shock armies complimented by the 42nd Spetsnaz Guard Brigade, multiple air regiments that they could throw from airbases all along the border and their entire Eastern fleet."

"We have the rest of our fleets being activated off of Guam and Midway." COMPACFLT said hopefully.

"Probably it won't be enough." EASTCOM shook his head. "I don't think we can risk a full naval war against the Russians, not if we're still hunting the Chinese fleet."

"We'll have to create a two hundred nautical mile exclusion zone-"

"That's a _big_ area to defend." Dominique shook her head. "and our men will be fighting two enemies on two different sides so we'll be sandwiched in the middle. And what will the rest of the PANTO countries think when our combined fleet get smashed by two world superpowers? If we lose this one we risk losing our alliance."

Becerra hid a smile as he watched a couple of his Joint Chiefs get taken by surprise. Dominique displayed a lot of political savvy beyond the dutiful mothering façade she wore in front of the cameras and community events.

"We can't defend it then." EASTCOM said. "We'll have to evacuate Korea and Japan as soon as possible-"

"Which will tie up more resources which we need." General Scott Mitchell spoke for the first time. He had been listening politely and Becerra had almost forgotten he was there. "Mr. President, if I may I think we're looking at this the wrong way. The United States Joint Strike Force is a rapid _action_ force. I think that our troops can gain the initiative if we strike them where it hurts."

"What do you mean?" Becerra asked.

"Our biggest problem against the Russians is the strength of their fleet right?" Mitchell said. "If we can eliminate the majority of that threat then we're free to deal with the Chinese and the Russian army troops will be bottled onto the Korean Penninsula which is already occupied by Chinese and North Koreans."

"What do you suggest?"

"We need to attack their naval ports quickly." Mitchell said. "Hit them with everything we have, Naval and land based strike aircraft, and we'll need to take Kamatchka away from the Russians. A take and hold raid long enough for troops to destroy precision targets and equipment, also we can neutralize the satellite Uplink in that area."

"Air strikes can't disable the machinery and buildings?" Dominique put a finger to her lips.

"They can but with the amount of equipment there, they could repair it within a couple weeks and bring it back to operational status." COMPACFLT nodded. "I see where General Mitchell is going. If we can deploy the Strike Force units that were supposed to go to Korea over to Kamatchka we could definitely put a big dent in their Navy's sortie capabilities. Infantry and tanks can get in where air power can't."

"How soon can we get a strike into place?" Becerra looked to Mitchell.

"We have three MAU carriers full of my troops entering the Sea of Japan from the south with the rest of PANTO. If they head northward they'll be within striking range in about-" Mitchell checked something on the screen for six beats of the heart. "ten hours."

"not quick enough." Becerra shook his head. "The Russian fleet can be deploying now."

"If we have anything to judge of their fleet response sir," EASTCOM noted, "It's that they aren't quick enough to grind gears from zero to a hundred in a second. A full deployment would be looking like eleven hours."

"We have another complication to add." Director Mahan spoke up now. "Their Satellite warning system will be able to detect any sort of incoming planes we deploy towards the Korean peninsula. However many planes General Mitchell thinks we'll need is definitely going to be picked up by them. We'll need to initiate satellite Uplink crashes on the base sites which we can't do without the proper access codes. Fisher has an agent working on that right now but we don't' know how soon he'll be doing his work."

"Well maybe it'll help to tell him that the entire _war_ could be hanging on that man's shoulders." Becerra said. "How badly will we be set back if the Russians enter the fight and win?"

"Maybe twenty yard loss." EASTCOM said sourly. "At the most optimistic."

"Let's get on it." Dominique said an instant before Becerra could make the order official with a nod.

* * *

><p>0400 – Pusan<p>

"Dear fucking _Christ_ it hurts!" The man sobbed as he clawed at the wound from an embedded piece of shrapnel that had nearly taken Swedo's head off. "Fuck _me_, I'm gonna die, oh dear God let it-"

"_Shut up_!" Swedo snarled into the Ranger's face as he pulled him below the firing step and yelled for a medic while he whipped out his pack and fumbled for his medical supplies. The first was the one use sharp of morphine which got buried in the mud after it slipped through Swedo's bloody fingers. He scrabbled around in the ground for it when a great yell made him snap the sidearm in his offhand up to fire two quick shots into the Chinese soldier's face. Combat had always been a fast adrenaline rush for Swedo until that instant.

Swedo could almost _see_ each bullet, how the little hollowpoint lead round entered just below the eye leaving a hole that didn't start squirting blood but instead exploded in it along with the man's face as the lead round expanded as it hit the flesh and then shattered when it struck the cheekbone sending tiny lead shrapnel flecks all throughout his inner face and back out again. The dead faceless man slumped down in real time on the wounded Ranger-fuck it was _Smith_, the wounded soldier was someone Swedo _knew_- and fired his rifle in death throes scoring a line up the side of the muddy trench wall. Smith screamed louder, but was muffled by the body and the sound of whizzing gunfire overhead. Swedo hauled the man off and then decided that the syringe wasn't worth it. He patted himself down frantically for his bayonet- no he'd strapped that to his SCAR when the Chinese charge had punched through the first line all the way to the second line here where they were being overrun. Fuck how was he going to dig that piece of steel that had embedded itself in Smith's collarbone? Swedo chewed on his cigarette. It helped him keep his concentration in battle he found, and he chewed on the filter while the battle raged, dropping down only for cover, to reload and to light up the next one. He chain smoked now.

Smith screamed again and kicked out his boot, catching Swedo hard in the side so that Swedo felt the tomahawk handle that was strapped securely to his belt.

"_Tangos, platoon strength to the northeast!"_ Bowman shouted as he discarded his SCAR marksman for a mounted minigun. The weapon burped to life again as the skinny track runner squeezed off two second bursts. A tank round screamed overhead and exploded behind them but all Swedo could hear was Smith screaming for his mother. Swedo fumbled for the tomahawk and got a good grip on it, using the sharp end to dig into, really _hurt_ this man because he couldn't find any morphine to give him, his collarbone and he pried the metal piece with his fingers till it came loose. Swedo scanned for more slivers of metal but satisfied that there were none he mopped up the blood which was oozing out. It was all over his dragonskin vest now, there wasn't any way he was going to be camouflaging among a cityscape with this uniform. He looked like this dirty red monster. He _was_ this dirty red monster.

Swedo took a last puff of his cigarette and used the burnt end to seal part of the wound. It probably wasn't sanitary and by the way Smith went unconscious it must have been excrutiating. Needs must. Swedo cut part of the Ranger's pants off and wrapped it tightly around the wound.

"You'll be okay!" Swedo shouted and left Smith propped up against the trench wall while Swedo stepped back up to the firing step with nothing but his M9 sidearm. His helmet had come off a long time ago along with the HUD. Swedo felt that he needed to see his enemy without the obstruction of a lense. He would have been frightened to see himself at that instant; he wore glaring wide eyes, streaks of blood across his cheeks that mixed with mud, a snarl that bared all of his teeth tore the midsection of his face, where his mouth used to be.

Swedo wasn't satisfied with all the soldier's he had shot and continued to pull the trigger long after he had expended his last round of ammunition in that little M9. Swedo's 3rd platoon had singlehandedly held the line at Pusan that day against almost impossible odds. Not all the casualties were killed and wounded.


	25. Chapter 24

0100 – Pentagon

"How're you holding up?" General Scott Mitchell asked to the theater commander in Korea. The Iridium satellite network in the US was still functioning despite all attempts for the Chinese to shoot down their satellites or jam them. The US Air Force had been very busy moving their ComSats on Delta V evasive burns and providing cover from fighters while still keeping them in range just so Mitchell could talk face to face with some of his commanders.

"We're taking a licking sir." The General in Korea managed a grim smirk. "The Chinese have been hitting us with regiment sized attacks for the past week. Skinnies seem to have dropped off the face of the earth."

"Who has?"

"Sorry sir, Skinnies. It's the local term. The Korean People's Army is really underfed and some of our men-"

"Okay. How long do you think you can hold?"

"Our men are beat sir." The general shook his head. "Morale is getting lower, a lot of the fighting is reduced to frontal assaults or trench sniping which I don't have to tell you is no way to fight a war. We're giving twice as many as what we take but casualties are still heavy. Averaging thirty percent killed and wounded down to the platoon level. The Koreans and Japanese are telling me our air cover is strained and our air support is nil. I haven't talked with the Air Force about this yet, he's just getting set up in Tokyo."

"Must be nice to fight a war from a safe place." Mitchell smirked, the General he was speaking to was at Pusan itself, at the head of the fighting.

"Yes sir."

"You'll know this isn't a social call. I'm telling you that the reinforcements we've promised are being redirected to another front. The Joint Strike Force regiments are heading north to take Kamatchka but the rest of the PANTO units will be at your doorstep by tonight."

"Understood." The General nodded. Mitchell noticed the slightest twitch in his jaw that betrayed the fact that he wasn't taking this news well. "I've heard rumors that Ivan's up for a fight too."

"That's right."

"Brilliant. I hope you don't mind me setting up a shoot on sight ROE."

"Do you think you need to be evacuated General?"

"Morale can't take another hit." The General shook his head. "And the Koreans here are fighting for their home, we can't just take that away from these people. If we leave, I don't think the others will sir. So we can't let them show us up."

"Keep up the good work."

* * *

><p>1700 – AO YANKEE, <em>USS Oregon<em>

Most ships at about this time would be breaking for lunch, at least if they were in the Chinese Navy. Their mealtime routine was much different than the United States Navy. The Chinese rotated mealtimes with half the crew at stations and the other half at meal. This meant that half the Chicomm sailors would be scoffing down rice when they should have been watching the waters. The US did it by quarters so that three quarters of the crew were watching. So what if lunch officially took four hours?

"Periscope depth." Captain Portman ordered and the sub slipped upward to 400 feet and raised its periscope. Portman spun it in three hundred and sixty degrees and flipped on the EM filters to pick up electromagnetic transmissions up to twenty miles away. Line of sight was good but it wasn't up to par with the computer's power. A scattering of blue blocky shapes were spotted on the horizon. Portman watched them for ten minutes, they were station keeping moving in good order. That meant a major fleet, and _that_ meant a carrier was somewhere in there.

"X, confirm that my visual bearing is away from the advance of the PANTO fleet."

"Aye sir. Your looking down three zero five."

"Looks like we found the Chinese fleet." Portman couldn't help but grin. He depressed a button to flip the powerful laser target designator to get a range estimate. Approximately ten miles away.

"Down scope." Portman stepped off the platform. "Raise the ELF mast and dictate this message to CVN-1. Chinese fleet sighted, multiple vessels of varying tonnage at…" Portman rattled off their coordinates. "Recommend an immediate strike at the previously designated coordinates. We will pursue priority targets until receiving further instructions." The Electronics officer nodded and went over to his station to relay the message to the PANTO fleet. Portman opened the intercom.

"Crew, this is the Captain. We have spotted what I believe is the Chinese carrier fleet at three zero five. My intention is to infiltrate through their outer defense web and shoot four harpoon missiles at each of the priority targets inside their range. XO, take the Conn."

"Aye aye skipper." Grifen nodded. "All ahead one third, make your depth sixteen hundred twenty degrees down angle…"

* * *

><p>1700 – Vladivostock<p>

The thing hanging over most people's heads around this time was a decision whether to eat healthy or splurge for dinner. Blanco's decision was what she would do once she was inside the base. The final Vladivostock division had left just last this morning she had learned from eavesdropping earlier in the coffee shop. Blanco was jogging, taking the long route to the University that passed by the army base, she had her big purse today which hid her pistol and most of her electronics equipment. The base would be very _vulnerable_ to a single operator such as Blanco. She wore purple jogging pants and a marshmallow white sweater to hide the skintight black raid clothes she wore and the knee and elbow pads seemed to be _too_ visible even though her clothes were baggy.

Getting inside was easy, getting those codes and getting out was going to be much harder. She mentally ran through the layout one last time; if she approached on the eastern end of the base she would be able to lay up inside the dormitories where the tech personnel probably lived. Probably, she'd have to find out. Blanco slipped her gloves on and tossed a Frisbee over the wall. It took one leap to bring her up to the wall, it was higher on this side, but the gloves were thick and padded so they would protect her form the barbed wire. They were also insulated at the palms by rubber so that the electric current that ran through the wire was disappated. slightly.

Blanco received a jolt for her troubles and almost let go of the wall. She hissed and shook her head free, the current was powerful. If she hadn't just touched it with her glove it might have sent her smoking to the ground. She couldn't go back the way she got in the first time, they would be watching it now that a hole had been identified. But that meant that this side would be watched less and that was what Blanco was hoping for. She let herself drop and on the ground fumbled for wire cutters. It was time for a little Thomas Edison work. She spooled a thin strand of copper wire to the tip of the steel cutters and attached it to a nail which she dug into the soil of a planter. It was a long piece of wire, and she leapt back up again, cutters in hand and snipped the electric and barbed wire cleanly. The current that should have been forced through the cutters was redirected by the copper wire and went safely into the ground.

Blanco was in. She landed on her toes, being careful to shift her weight from back to front as she landed because that damped the noise and she slipped off her outer garments so that she was only dressed in her black raid clothing. Next she rifled through her purse which she turned inside out so that it was matte black, the same color as her clothes and slipped the contents onto her belt, pistol, motion sensors, electronic disruptors, heartbeat sensor, flash drives, multitool, satellite hopper and multipurpose goggles all were slipped on in relative silence in the shadows of the base. The entire changing operation had taken six minutes. Showtime.

The lights that bathed the base in light created pools of absolute black which Blanco sprinted to like jumps in a perverse game of leapfrog. She reached the dormitories without problem, and once she entered the confines, flipped her goggle visor down and touched the edge.

The Third Echelon Sonar Goggles fired six off the audible scale tones which bounced around the building and returned to the goggles which used its minicomputer to map out the entire bottom floor and part of the second floor dormitories for her. A couple rooms were unknown, they were the ones with proper soundproofing and therefore Blanco would avoid them. Everyone that worked on the base would come to sleep in one of these buildings eventually, and all of them would have to go to the bathroom at some point. Blanco would use that to her advantage and quietely slipped into a men's toilet stall to wait.

The next person entering would get much more than the satisfaction of relieving his bladder.

* * *

><p>1700 – Tokyo<p>

"_Rogue one, sky is yours. Wind five knots at three six zero."_

"Copy, my sky." Cotugno couldn't help but smile behind his mask at the joy of being behind the stick again. Being grounded felt as if someone had torn off his legs. He was a bird of prey, born in the cockpit and raised to kill. Cotugno rotated his turbines for the final burn and lifted off, joining dozens more attack aircraft in a journey west. It was going to be a massive operation to help those boys on the ground, the PANTO units had finally gotten their act together in Tokyo and were deploying in force to help out the beleaguered troops at Pusan. Cotugno and his four raptors rose to sixty thousand feet to join the escort formation above the V-22 ospreys which were at twenty thousand feet. There were a lot of them below, the twin propeller VTOL craft could deploy an entire rifle platoon quickly behind enemy lines (as they were going to be doing now) and then lift to provide fire support from a chin mounted 50 calibur machine gun and hull mounted grenade launchers. Almost as nimble but much bulkier and slower were the V120 Valkyries which had been deployed by PANTO to deploy tanks and armor with them. It was quite a babysitting operation, there were thirty six transport units down there. But that was why there were fifty escorts supported by an AWACS and a B-1 Lancer converted as a Missile Sled.

The other pilots were alright, although Cotugno still considered himself better than any of them, the Australians were new but had proven very competent against the Chinese. They had even brought their F-35s out to play. Cotugno and his Raptors were the only Americans aloft though. There were at least a hundred American fighters in Tokyo now, but apparently they were being shifted North to deal with something quick that was bowling over. Too bad, those A-20 Razorback tank busters would have been nice for the guys on the ground. They would have to be satisfied with the Japanese F-2 and Rockeye clusterbombs.

"_All callsigns, Evil eye, detecting multiple radar tracks at two seven zero-okay they just dropped tanks and went Mach 1. Multiple bandits are identified J-10 dragons and J-8 Sinoflankers, count them twenty four plus at angels twenty. Huscarl, Vanguard, Diablo- snap to intercepts and you are weapons free."_

Cotugno heard the three squadron leaders acknowledge and their F-15 Stealth Eagles kick up their afterburners and boost forward as they eagerly closed to fight.

"Eyes up Rogues." Cotugno voiced to his squadron. "Watch for Stealth fighters."

"They're racking up all the kills Cap'n." Rogue three feigned a complaint.

"Well let them so we can do our-" Cotugno spotted a flash overhead, like a shooting star but it had been red. He squinted his eyes, the sun was just beginning its final dip and inching towards the ground so the stars overhead were materializing and maybe it was his eyes-no there it was again. Cotugno grinned. It was a sloppy mistake that would cost them. If there were fighters up there- and there were because red flashes in the upper atmosphere seemed to be man made rather than the laws of nature having a bad day – then they hadn't been picked up on Evil Eye's radar. And that meant they were stealth fighters.

_Black Silk_. And one of them had accidentally left his running lights on.

"Rogues on me, I've got eyes on multiple bandits at sixty thousand feet. Evil eye you've got J-20 Stealth fighters heading right towards you coming high, moving to engage."

"_Good spot, Rogue Leader. You are weapons free, splash them all for us."_

Cotugno kicked up his throttle to supercruise and closed the distance. His first target hadn't even realized he was painted for a millimeter band radar lock until Cotugno's Vulcan cannon tore into him and the dogfight was joined.


	26. Chapter 25

2000 – USS Bataan

They were streaking north at a quick thirty five knots which was enough to make Colonel Matthew Beaseley's boots quake under the generator thrum. The Joint Strike Force, with all their latest and greatest toys still resorted to the old Amphibious Assault Carrier to deploy its two thousand man strong unit and that rather irked Beasely. He had formerly performed on Ghost Recon's Alpha Squad, serving with Scott Mitchell in the Mexican hostpot in 2013 and had always had the newest toys in the US army at his disposal. Technically he still had them, but this troop carrier was at least thirty years old and it was beginning to show. A lot of the equipment on Bataan was not equipped for the tech heavy Joint Strike Force, especially its fleet of F-35Cs, Goshawks, Valkyries and mobile equipment. There were six of them in this strike group that was looping north away from the main fleet and heading northward to hit the Russians where it hurt.

"It won't be in and out." He told his captains in the briefing room. "Ivan's got heavy defenses, triple A, SAMS, couple of their fleet units and we expect a full SG brigade with armor, air support and regular army formations."

A Captain whistled and shook his head. "It'll be a hotspot for sure."

"Slick behind the ears." Another shrugged.

"The battalion will be spread out over these six yards." Beaseley continued shooting the others a glance. "With the main yard at Kamatchka being where the core of our force is deployed. I'll be leading that one myself . Primary objectives are to disrupt their fleet operations, we can nail a couple of their subs with air strikes but if you take a look at these warehouses- " Beasely highlighted them with his laser pointer-"their tops are armored and we don't have enough bunker busters to punch through them so we'll need to be laying those demo charges by hand."

"Sir," A woman raised her hand, Beasely squinted his eyes for a moment somewhat surprised that there actually _was_ a woman here, not that he had anything against it. Its just that the military was slow to adapt with the change in times and women officers above the rank of lieutenant were still rare. More importantly, Beasely knew that all of his Captains were male because he'd been working with them for the past year and a half.

"What _will_ we be having air support for?" she asked totally unperturbed by the slight stare Beasely had given her. "You mentioned that we'll be following F-19s and F-35s in but will they be remaining on station? Because if we don't get any sort of support we'll be sitting ducks to the Spetsnaz."

"I'm sorry, but-"

"Captain Tigh came down with stomach flu." She said without skipping a beat. "I'm his second. Lieutenant Ashley Goff reporting sir."

"You know your troops well?" Goff looked like she could take some shit and deal it back. She'd have to be if she was Tigh's second in command.

"Yes sir, Ninja is one hundred and four percent ready for combat." Goff smirked. "We own the night sir!"

"Well to answer your question, the SAMs in that area are linked directly to the base's Uplink centers and are heavily automated. We can't risk any close air support with those in place, so gunship support will also be minimal."

"We can go in and take them out to distract them while the others blow the subs." She replied immediately. "It'll keep them off balance. We might be able to turn this around too if we take out those SAMs. We'll be able to throw a lot more weight at Ivan maybe even turn this into a take and hold mission."

"What was your former training?" Another Captain asked. He was as impressed as Beasely, there weren't many people out there that could take initiative and come up with plans so quickly.

"Tenth mountain, did time with 7th LID." Goff blushed a little. 7th LID were among the best light infantry divisions in the Army, deploying for deep strike low support missions and their operatives tended to be brilliant in their improvisation so Beasely had heard. Goff would be stepping up the game for all of them.

"It's a good idea Lieutenant." Beasely nodded. "I'm brevetting you up to Captain for now. Our attack plan is solid but it'll be moot if we can't get those outer SAM and Radar nets shut down first. We can't go in without those Uplink codes."

* * *

><p>2000 – Vladivostock<p>

The bathroom doors opened and booted feet stepped on tile echoing off the walls. Blanco was standing on the toilet of the far stall to hide her soft soled shoes. She waited six quickened heartbeats, her target was alone. She waited to hear the sound of water against porcelain before slowly setting her feet silently onto the tile floor and drawing her Wraith .22 and snapping on the silenced end a blunt nosed thimble like object. She opened the stall door as quietly and slowly as she could and kept her pistol carefully pointed to the floor. She waited for the sound of the man zipping up his pants before she spun around the side of the stall and squeezed the trigger. The tiny thimble, carried and retarded the speed of the bullet so that when it struck the man's neck it didn't kill him. Rather when it struck it emited a tiny shock and off the audible scale screech that was so close to his ear the man lost balance and collapsed. He would be stunned for six precious seconds, Blanco flipped the lights off of the bathroom and then dragged him into the far bathroom stall where she flipped on her NVGs and stabbed a sharp of codine into the man's ankle vein where the sedative would disperse quickly into his bloodstream.

He was a technician by the look of his Uniform, someone from the Russian Strategic Satellite force. Blanco had struck a very good source here indeed.

"You will tell me the security codes to the Satellite Uplink in this facility." Blanco hissed in the man's ear. The sedative would dull any pain Blanco would inflict on him but it would also make him more prone to persuasion, that and the still disrupted inner ear.

"What? Who are you?" The man shook his head and blinked furiously, the sudden loss of light would make his eyes almost useless and Blanco was wearing her 3rd Echelon raid gear, black as night.

"_What_ am I Pavel Leonardovich." She hissed as she glanced at the Identification tag he wore around his wrist like all Russian troops. "I am your devil, I am your witch."

"You will not get anything from me." He coughed.

Blanco fired a single shot into the man's ankle.

He gasped and Blanco felt something wet strike her in the cheek, a .22 might not have been a particularly big round but at close range all the kinetic energy would be dissipated into the target and would spread outward into the flesh and muscle, causing horrendous damage. Blanco didn't have to look at the man's ankle to know that the little round had torn a large chunk of it out.

"You see what happens when you lie? You receive pain and a piece of you goes away, disappears forever." Blanco said "You say I will not get anything from you and yet I already know your name, and knew you would be here. You will tell me everything that I already know."

The man's eyes screwed up and his pupils dilated, he still couldn't' see anything yet Blanco's NVGs could see him in a world of green. The codine would do nothing for the nerve endings in the ankle, it would still be hurting like nothing the little techie had ever felt. A stronger sedative would be the only thing to numb the kind of pain that came with losing a piece of your flesh. He didn't say anything for a second too long. Blanco shot him in the palm of his hand making him double over, but she yanked his head back and pinned it against the wooden stall.

"Answer! What are the security details to the Uplink?"

"I-I- six guards patrol the outer perimeter-" the man sputtered and grasped his hand which was now beginning to spray blood everywhere. Blanco pulled the hand away to let it spray. It would help weaken his will- "Ten of us work inside, the access codes are on every station so that if someone were to upload a virus- God it hurts!"

"Answer!"

"Six firewalls to hack through I don't have the security clearance for that-" the soldier groaned again. "The supervisor went home already-"

"How are the firewalls coded?"

"Randomizing electronic vectors along six hundred lines of code-"

That would be perfect, Blanco would have to make some modifications on her TAPDANCE decrypter for that but all in all it would be a relatively easy process.

"That's it?" Blanco hissed at the soldier who nodded and gritted his teeth. Blanco let go of his hand which immediately clamped down on his palm wound. Blanco fired two shots into the man's head and crept out the lavatory and into the dormitory halls again. She reloaded, she'd need a full magazine if she were going to infiltrate that Uplink center.

* * *

><p>2000 – Pusan<p>

A duel between two stealth killers was in Cotugno's favor but only slightly. The fighters, F-22 Raptor and J-20 Black Silk had to hunt each other the old fashioned way, line of sight and with guns. The heat dispersal patterns on the J-20 weren't as good as the F-22s so at least Cotugno could shoot his Sidewinders but the Chinese pilots were good and it as only Cotugno's surprise attack that managed to even get one. The Chicomms had dispersed immediately after that, disappearing into the cloud cover never to reappear. They were at the edge of their flight range anyway, Cotugno guessed they had gone Bingo after evasive maneuvering and went back to refuel. Cotugno just finished topping off his Raptor as he pulled into the race track patterns he was flying over the E-7 Eagle Eye AWACS craft which was keeping track of the entire battle below. The PANTO reinforcements had just begun to deploy in force behind the Chinese and North Korean Formations a full battalion of armor from Japan, Australia, Canada, and Mexico slammed into the rear where most of the artillery was located and were shredding through the frontal formations support. It didn't look like they were giving in though….

* * *

><p>2000 – Pusan<p>

It was an all out assault, not waves of infantry as Swedo had experienced before, it was a massive combination of tanks, artillery and infantry all swarming across a wide city avenue that was now being called "the moonscape" because it was so muddy and blackened with shell craters. Swedo sipped his water canteen and noticed for the first time how bloody his hands were. He had picked up scratches and bruises from all of his moving and falling back. But most of that blood wasn't his, it had crusted and when Swedo rubbed his hands over it, the crust disintegrated and was carried out into the wind like sand. This was it though, the final stand. They had been pushed back six miles into the city and the few forces that hadn't been evacuated already had their backs to the sea.

The shell fall was almost nothing, even though it fell like drops in a tsunami, Swedo heard men scream as unlucky shells landed directly into the trench dugouts they had jackhammered into the cement, he heard rock and metal fragments whizz and whistle so dangerously close he had a piece of his ear ripped off by one.

The worst part was also the easiest, when smoke shells began drifting down to obscure the battlefield in the fog of war. That meant they were coming. Swedo flipped on his Infrared imaging equipment and poked his head up, almost surprised to see so many other helmets and rifles emerging from the trenches just as he was. Swedo's Ranger detatchment had evacuated just hours ago. But Swedo volunteered to stay behind, he still had things to settle with the Chicomms and Skinnies. He wrapped his scarf around his nose, wetted so that the acrid stench of burnt men, steel, rock and smoke wasn't as unbearable as it was now. The HUD tagged the first enemies that were coming into "view", infantry scrambled in front of tanks and slowly Swedo began to hear the warcry- a screaming warbling thing that Swedo didn't understand but had now heard at least twice – crescendo over the sound of shells still falling and aircraft screeching overhead. There was no falling back here. Swedo raised his rifle and waited for his target to get in range.


	27. Chapter 26

1700 – Kongwong Bo mountain range

Long was missing. He had gone off on a "scouting" mission six days ago into a small town and hadn't been heard from since. Witt was worried. Long's vital signs still were green whenever Witt boosted his HUD signal with the satellite booster but for some reason, Long blacked out his GPS so that it couldn't actually triangulate his position beyond his general area.

"We look after ourselves." Colonel Cho told Witt with a stuff nod. Witt didn't doubt it, even if it sounded like _juche_ he was right. The resistance movement was far from helpless as it was in the weeks ago when Witt had first stepped foot into that camp. The network had spread across the country, especially since they now condemned the Chinese as foreign invaders on their own soil. The Korean Resistance fought for greater things than their own survival now, they fought for their country. Witt nodded and got Sullivan and Park together to discuss their missing Ghost.

Long was their sniper, and he had taken his Chey-Tach Intervention, at least two hundred rounds for it, a single Kalashnikov rifle and sixty rounds for that, his set of pineapple grenades, six claymores and a days' supply of food.

"He might be dead." Sullivan said. "His HUD could be malfunctioning, he can't shoot on an empty stomach."

"and the town he sent to look at was full of Chinese troops, like an occupation force." Park added.

"We don't leave men behind." Witt said "especially ones who weren't supposed to be here in the first place."

So they gathered their equipment and walked the twenty miles north to the little town where their Ghost was seen last. Witt settled into the brush and used his HUD to check the charge of his camouflage cloak before activating it and becoming invisible like water vapor. The place was surprisingly deserted for a heavy garrison for Chinese troops. Witt spotted a couple with his thermal imaging HUD but they were all standing behind some sort of hard cover like a concrete wall. Why? The vehicle pool was completely deserted, Witt slipped into the shadows, being careful that his boots didn't tread on anything that might make noise. Sullivan was on overwatch with his big gun, Park was right behind Witt.

"Action left." Park whispered and Witt snapped his rifle on a Korean soldier who dove behind the wheel of a jeep.

"He looks starved." Witt whispered as he noticed how loosely the uniform fit on him. Witt was happy to see that the resistance supply raids were working, but this didn't make sense. Witt scanned the vehicles, they should have had some sort of dry rationing around and even if they didn't wouldn't the soldiers just take from the civilians? Almost as soon as he thought that, a woman in rags joined the soldier she poked her head up above the jeep window and then made a dash for another car, sliding behind it as she did. These people moved like they had been exposed to fire before. How? Was she a combat vet?

Witt kept his eyes on the odd pair while he leaned against a wall for comfort and deactivated his cloak to let it recharge. He blended with the shadows perfectly here. The soldier leaped behind the woman and then the pair made a sprint toward a vehicle, at the far north. The woman scrambled into the back screeching as her hands clawed for something in the back of the truck. She tore off the wrapping of what appeared to be a rice cake at this distance and jammed it into her mouth just as the soldier reached her. They clawed for the food, the Soldier punched her but she didn't let go-

_Crack_

The soldier's head was suddenly missing, it disappeared in a red puff.

"_Sniper fire!"_ Witt and Park hissed automatically and snapped their rifles up to train on threats. Where? Who? _Long_. He was around here disrupting this entire place singlehandedly. That was the power a sniper had over people. He made them feel like animals, he stalked he tracked he snuffed out their lives at a whim. Witt caught a flash of movement but that was just the woman who swallowed her cake and scrambled into the back of the truck for another bag. She grabbed it and dashed-

_Crack._ Her chest exploded and sprayed blood all across the dirty road and the windshield of a car.

"_Fuck!"_ Witt hissed and opened the secure crosscom. "Sierra Four Sierra four, this is Ghost leader, hold your goddamn fire! That was a civilian!" He was sure Long could hear them, he had used his emergency override to reach it. It wasn't like the woman had a chance; the Intervention fired a massive .50 caliber round that was designed to penetrate two inches of steel. Long mentioned that he loaded hollow point rounds which would expand on impact and do terrible damage to the body.

A boy ran out of a building and someone screamed. The boy was completely naked and couldn't have been more than six, you could see his ribs. _Fuck, _Witt mouthed and flipped his camouflage on and moved to get a better angle on the street. Where was Long? Witt could only keep one eye out for him and one eye on the boy who was desperately trying to shake the woman's hand, even though her chest and rib cage had been blown outward and was still on the ground. _Oh fuck don't do it Long don't do it-_

A man ran out and scooped up the child, sprinting back to his building when another shot cut the still night and sent him and the child spinning. The child was flung into the wall where Witt heard a snap barely audible above the man's shout. Witt didn't see where the bullet hit but if it was Long it was fatal.

"Doesn't he fucking care?" Park snapped from behind Witt. "where is he?"

"That building." Witt finally spotted a likely perch. It was a monument ironically something the Korean people had slaved over maybe dozens of years ago. Twin crossed swords that matched the top of a fifteen meter tall spire. That's where Long would be able to control this entire city, where he could strike terror into anyone he chose.

"We need to get in close." Park whispered.

"He controls all the avenues of approach." Witt shot back. "And we get lit up on his HUD as friendlies. He'll know we're coming."

"So?"

"He shoots civilians trying to get _food_, do you think he'll care about us?"

Park didn't reply. Witt scanned and thought of ways they could actually get close to the tower without getting shot but every one of them was wrong. It didn't matter where they moved they'd get lined up and shot without a single problem. A squad of Chinese troops dashed behind Witt and circled the building. Witt frowned, were they trying to do the same thing as him?

"Follow them." Witt ordered. "Sullivan stay where you are, Park and I are going to make contact with Long."

"_Good luck_." Sullivan replied.

* * *

><p>2000 – USS <em>Enterprise<em>

The first fighters were shooting off now, Pierrera was not among them. He breathed a sigh of relief as he watched on the deck as 200 attack aircraft lifted off from the PANTO fleet to go strike at the Chinese carriers. Pierrera had studied carrier warfare back in school, he was a WWII buff back then. Carriers played games of Hide and Go seek, where the first one to spot the other launched an attack that almost always caught the other off guard. History was repeating itself here, and even if the Chinese had a big fleet, PANTO had the Americans who were masters of carrier warfare.

Pierrera shook his head and headed down deck. Interceptor pilots like Pierrera were more important than ever now that the enemy could shoot an anti ship missile sixty miles away and then just bolt back home. Things were much different in the modern wage where stealth kings ruled the skies and the skies were now among the most important theater of war. He was just heading down to go get change when the alarm sounded.

"_Action stations Action stations, set condition one throughout the ship, this is not a drill say again this is not a drill. Heavy Big bulge jamming at two seven zero-_"

Pierrera bolted to the ready room where his mask, gloves and G suit would be waiting. He couldn't help his hands from shaking as he pulled them on.

* * *

><p>2000 – USS <em>Enterprise <em>Combat Direction Center

"We have burn through! Multiple bandits at two seven zero, count them eighty plus at angels thirty. Designating raid one."

"Shoot off the plus five fighters and unmask all batteries. Weapons free." Admiral Mahan ordered and felt the ship bank starboard as it began to turn to bring its length on the enemy who would be launching missiles soon. He heard the magnetic launchers screech as a pair of fighters roared off the deck and into the air.

"Turn our strike around get them back here." Mahan ordered as he strode over to the holographic tactical display. The blue globe displaying the entire battlezone flashed several red V's at the edge of radar range, eating up the distance, and Mahan's own fighters turning to orient themselves at the inbound threats. The V's materialized into distinct shapes in front of Mahan's eyes as the computer matched their radar shapes with their fighter class.

"J-10s and 11s." The Executive officer noted. "If they're carrying their best antiship weapons they'll be sitting ducks to our fighters. They're heavy sons of bitches."

"What's the range on that?" A rating working the radar station broke discipline and asked. Mahan didn't mind.

"Sixty miles." Mahan said grimly, "Rate of closure?"

"They can shoot at maximum range in two minutes sir."

"New radar tracks! Incomings bearing two eight niner counting sixty plus at angels ten designating raid two-_Vampire Vampire!_ Raid two composed of missiles! Tally sixty!"

"I was wondering when they would bring those into play." Mahan groused. The Chinese had spent lots of money on a very special land based missile, it was a high altitude missile with a range of three thousand miles. It was supposed to be a carrier killer. "Fleet is released for defensive maneuvering, link counter missile fire control to USS _Bunker Hill_ and HMCS _Inuit_, keep our boys on raid one."

Mahan could only stand here and watch now, the rest was up to the individual captains, pilots and sailors as the radiomen relayed their orders to the different ships who were now beginning to spread out from their usual station keeping formations to prepare for evasive maneuvering. The E-2 Hawkeye AWACS craft aloft in combination with carrier towers vectored their fighters in toward the Chinese in a race for time, which would get into firing position first, the Americans or the Chinese?

"Ten seconds to firing position." The Electronics warfare officer said as he began cracking his knuckles in anticipation for jamming. The AWACS commanders were smart, they vectored their fastest fighters, a dozen F-19 Bobcats, straight for the enemy radar craft but that wouldn't help the ships much. The PANTO fighters managed to reach their position first and launched missiles at maximum range, coordinated by the AWACS craft. The Chinese were just beginning to get radar locks and twenty managed to launch a single missile successfully but the other sixty fighters were blotted out of the sky, it was only unfortunate chance that had the Americans in a superior firing position. The Vampire call went out again as twenty anti ship missiles joined the first sixty.

The first shrieking missiles began launching in what appeared on the decks to be curtains of flame. They were counter-missiles fired off the Aegis IV blocks loaded onto the Anti Air cruisers of the USS fleet and the many anti air destroyers that were found dispersed amongst the fleet. Much like the way the Raptor could link computer systems and direct missile fire with a bomber converted as a missile sled, the missile cruisers could do the same, targeting a sixty mile basket that was computed to factor in both sides missiles rate of closure and altitudes.

Swarms of missiles collided in the night booming out over the sea and rocking the waves. Twelve made it through and were then targeted by the point defense sytems of the fleet, aging 40mm flak guns and the newer chain guns added on frigates and destroyers. Red and yellow tracers licked out at twenty miles to the missiles as they nosed down to begin their Mach 6 dives and lock onto their individual targets. Chaff and flares rocketed up simultaneously in an attempt to obscure the Chinese missile's view but their warhead brains were smart and saw through it. Jamming saw to eight of them. The remaining four struck four ships. None of them were carriers.

Mahan couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief as he saw that none of the missiles were locked onto his ship.

"Begin rescue operations and bring our bombers home." Mahan ordered as he noted that USS _Ticonderoga_ was one of those hit but from what her Captain was reporting the damage was only minor.

"Let's get the next punch in."


	28. Chapter 27

2100 – Vladivostok

Blanco was in. She tried to ignore the stench of lead and smoking flesh as she hooked her laptop and TAPDANCE encryptor into the Uplink site to begin her virus upload. She stepped gingerly over the bodies of the four technicians who were on duty and walked over to the blast proof doors and yanked open the control panel. It was a quick job of rewiring to seal the door and cut the power so that no one on the outside could even open it short of blowing it up, maybe it would buy her some time. She walked back to the computers where the virus had just cut through the first and second firewalls in rapid succession but was running into trouble with the third. This wasn't going fast enough.

Blanco took over manually, her fingers flying over the keyboard as she typed in lines of code that would hopefully open something in the wall, something as small as a needle in digital terms was all she needed to get through-

One of the technicians radio's chirped. Blanco was too concentrated to take answer, that hole in the wall could only appear in a second of lines of code-

"Yes!" She smirked and jabbed the Return key inserting her wedge so that the infiltrator could slip through. The final one had rolling lines of code that appeared to be changing on screen. This one was something Blanco couldn't handle, she set her Smartphone up again and began the data sifter program. She was supposed to be patient now, but that was difficult with what the security cameras outside were showing.

The army base was coming to full alert, and the dead guards on patrol outside had been found. She'd have company in any moment. The virus cut through the last firewall and began its decryption and transfer programs. Blanco tapped a command onto her touchscreen laptop to begin the data upload to the US fleet as soon as the code decryption was complete. It would take six minutes, in the mean time Blanco checked the security cameras.

A platoon was ambling about outside, they spread out to secure the perimeter. Blanco wasn't going to be escaping from this one. She scanned her eyes on the other screens and found the picture of the Uplink's modest armory. It was a quick jog down the hall that took her there where she came back with her back strapped with a number of rifles which she dispersed among different areas in the center.

Outside someone cut the power, shutting down all the lights inside the computer room but because Blanco had hotwired the electronic input so that it ran off of her own Laptop's beefed up battery the connection remained. It would take another two minutes. Blanco began to hear a drilling noise coming from the entrance. They were going to weld through it. She began hauling desks over, they were hard metal and would be enough for her to hide behind temporarily and she began to toss manuals and computers onto the floor so that it would confuse an intruder's footing. The cut lights here would work to her advantage, she had a great goggle system and a silenced weapon; she was a Splinter cell, striking from the shadows and then melting back into them. She checked the magazine of her little .22 and then slid behind a bookcase sized computer modem which completely obscured her view-

The loud explosion reverberated through the hall and sent steel pieces of the blast door whizzing by, some crashing into the tables, chairs throwing the manuals and other objects hurtling through the air. Blanco covered her ears and closed her eyes because next would come the flashbangs-

Those were timed just right, exploding in rapid succession that left Blanco reeling for half a moment because the sound from concussion grenades was at about the same decibels as a fighter jet taking off by her ear and therefore were enough to disrupt her balance, but she had covered them and that helped a lot. She shakily snapped the sonar goggles down once to get a glimpse as the high frequency pulse illuminated two men who had entered the site rifle's raised, the first stubbed his toe against a filing cabinet that Blanco had thrown down, the second, hearing the loud metallic clang immediately turned to shoot at the perceived threat.

Blanco didn't let him, she fired two shots into the back of the man's neck as she leaned her arm out from behind the computer servo. She shifted her aim right to shoot at the second man coming in but only succeeded in hitting him high in the shoulder out of three shots. That was enough for his weapon to begin shooting as his finger tightened reflexively on the trigger and six rounds whizzed rapidfire past Blanco as she ducked behind the servo to ready her next attack. She pulled the pin on a concussion grenade and tossed it, leaning back again. A Russian shouted but was cut off by the second flash and bang of that night as Blanco sprinted from her cover to the next point where she slid behind the metal table to snatch up the Kalashnikov rifle. The weapon was already set to single shot and she quickly began placing precise shots down the hallway where her adversaries had virtually no cover and were reeling from the stun grenade. Three more dropped in seconds.

The Russians reacted quickly, diving for cover and pulling their wounded comrades to safety as they returned fire. Blanco felt a round snap close by her ear and she ducked behind the table hissing. This part would only take a few minutes, she flipped her smartphone out to check on the progress of the code decryption.

Four minutes left, an eternity. And then Blanco had to get out alive. She placed the small ball of plastic explosive and cell wired detonators to the bottom of the table and sprinted down the hallway, spraying rounds as she went to her next checkpoint to grab another rifle. The Russians predictably chased her, the rounds she was firing made them unaware of the explosives that they were now in range of. Blanco hit the speed dial on her phone and jabbed the SEND key. The explosion lit up the hallway like a wall of fire.

* * *

><p>2100 – AO Yankee <em>USS Oregon<em>

It had all come down to these crucial seconds where the Principle Weapons team crunched the numbers to find the perfect firing solution that locked in 4 harpoon missiles and matched _Oregon's_ running speed of 20 knots. Portman didn't want to be in the middle of dodge city once these missiles were launched, but here he was. They'd slipped past the outer sonar nets the Chinese fleet had set up with relative ease, there was one helicopter cruiser that Portman had trouble evading, that was one that came with a dipping sonar and had caused the crew a lot of grief over the past two hours but here they were, looking down China man's pants to see if there really were a pair in there and to see just how much pain it could take before falling off entirely.

"Firing solution! Best window of opportunity in the next twenty seconds Skipper, fire sequence one through four set!" The Principle Weapons Officer shouted, Portman's mouth worked over a piece of bubblegum, he liked to have something to work his mouth around in times of stress. Portman gave the XO a nod.

"Match generated bearings and _shoot."_ Grifen said much more calmly than Portman ever could have.

"Fire sequence!" the shout was just over the very audible roar and shake as four missiles were jetted by air pressure out of the Nuclear attack Submarine's torpedo tubes and up and out of the water. Portman had set this attack up carefully, he was inside the Carrier's defensive net and the enemy would have a very hard time of tracking and then countering the four harpoon missiles that had shot straight up and were now coming straight down on a ship only three miles away. They wouldn't be able to detect only a single sweep from a radar especially inside their defenses. Portman's shots would climb up to twenty thousand feet before nosing over and beginning a Mach 3 dive that their computer systems wouldn't be able to track. That entire process would take twelve seconds by his watch, and if the crew were already at battle stations it would take at least fifteen to unmask those counterbattery weapons.

Grifen barked his next string of orders and _USS_ _Oregon_ nosed downward to slip under the thermal layer where the enemy couldn't hear them. But before that, sonar reported the sounds of splash noises coming from their target, and they weren't just four big splashes, rather a number of littler ones. Scratch one flat top, Portman thought as the nuclear submarine began its final dive-

"_Torpedo in the water! Torpedo in the water bearing one eight zero-" _Sonar suddenly shouted and that snapped Portman into action.

"Snap shot! Load mark 48s and orient on incoming threat, countermeasures at the ready!"

"Aye aye sir!" countermeasures shouted from his station. The lieutenant jabbed a button on his controls to deploy a pair of noisemakers that immediately went off to obscure _Oregon_ in a shroud of noise that hopefully the enemy wouldn't be able to follow.

"Torpedoes have acquired us!"

"Tube one ready in all respects Skipper!"

"Match generated bearings and _shoot_!" Portman shouted

"Fire one! One fired electrically!" the weapons officer immediately cut the wires leaving Portman free to maneuver, hopefully that snap shot would be enough to force the enemy to cut his own wires and let the torpedo ping automatically where it would be distracted by the torpedo and _USS_ _Oregon_ would be long gone.

"He hasn't cut wires Captain!" there was more urgency in the Sonar operators voice.

"Crash stop, close outer doors." Portman ordered, it would be a race for how soon could USS Oregon lose forward momentum and drop like a metal coffin or if the torpedo would home in on her hull and kill Portman and all his crew. Portman licked his lips and chewed furiously. He felt the ship drop suddenly after the resounding metal whine as the turbines and screws shut down abruptly.

"Clean miss!" Sonar shouted, although it sounded strained.

"All ahead one third, level us out!" Portman was physically gripping onto the ceiling because the downward angle was so steep he saw his coffee mug slide downward toward the aft end and splinter on the metal bulkhead. USS _Oregon_ slowly reoriented and settled at a level plane.

"How's that torpedo?" Portman asked over the intercom as Grifen wiped his brow with a sleeve.

"Enemy unit has acquired our noisemaker, circling above us now."

"We wait here." Portman told Grifen who nodded. "that has to have been a submarine up there."

"We should have heard that." Grifen scowled. "Those Chinese lugs are lazy when it comes to silent subs and there isn't any way-"

"Torpedo came directly from the south, the mouth of the Yellow Sea." Portman said his mind already racing. Was it the spark of intuition that came with stress and exhaustion that was making him forget, remember and come to incredible conclusions all at once? "Sonar, Con, what was the range you picked up that torpedo?"

"About two thousand meters out sir."

"Okay, so if they were two clicks out our snap shot should have spooked them." Portman explained. "But it didn't, they were shooting from a different angle and they kicked their torpedoes up at the last minute because they only headed in a straight line toward us."

"Chinese have gotten smart." Grifen shrugged.

"But we didn't hear their sub."

"They're better than we thought too."

"That wasn't Chinese, the _Akula_ is the only OPFOR sub that could catch us off guard like that. The passive sonar on a Virginia is just too good for the Chinese nucs and diesels now."

"So that wasn't a Chinese-"

"It was Russian." Portman felt his mouth tug at a grin. He didn't know why. "They want to take on _Oregon_, let's oblige them."


	29. Chapter 28

2130 – North of the Kongwong Bo mountain range

The Chinese dispersed quickly, making good use of their cover and here Witt experienced how his enemy would behave when assaulting a position. Their support troops, in the US military they were generally Automatic Riflemen, were supplemented by a number of rapid fire grenade launchers that fired eight grenades from a long barreled bipod mounted rifle. The tower far off exploded in shattered glass and dust as the first barrage of grenades made contact. Witt heard another crack of the sniper rifle. A voice shouted in Chinese and the troops went forward, dashing across the alleyway. Another crack heralded a Chinese soldier spinning as though caught in a strong gust and then collapsing on the ground where he gasped for air. His comrade went to go retrieve him and got a shot in the chest for his trouble. The soldier continued to gasp in the alleyway, all Witt could do was stay hunched in the shadows and hope the Chinese didn't notice the blurred outline of his camouflage.

"That's an eight hundred meter down angle shot." Park whispered with a tinge of disgust mixed with admiration.

"He's good." Witt agreed as he tried to block out the noise of the downed man holding his side and screaming. He was trying to crawl but with every foot came another spurt of blood and new pain. "He's a Ghost after all."

"We're Ghosts." Park growled. "We don't do that sort of shit."

"He's not our kind of Ghost."

Another volley went out from the grenades and the Chinese troops scrambled forward again, the last man dragged his comrade behind the wall with which they had been hiding behind and then began treating him. Witt and Park slinked behind the Chinese who were now moving more quickly and with a great purpose. Another shot of the sniper, Witt saw one of the grenadiers fly back and shout. The Chinese troops stormed the building quickly, not even organizing a proper breach. The point man for the Chinese knelt and fired a grenade underslung on his rifle to explode the door in a shower of glass and steel splinters and the Chinese roared in.

Several explosions – the distinct boom of Lily Pad bouncing mines - cut through the first group of soldiers. Witt scowled, this kind of force was _sick_. Mines attached to tripwires or motion sensors didn't discriminate between enemy or noncombatant, nor friend or foe. Witt could only wait as the rest of the soldiers piled in after them and continued on. The Chinese troops were well trained, they went floor by floor, room by room. Some rooms were trapped, others were not. They approached stairs cautiously and cut what traps they found-only to find that disarming a motion sensor claymore usually involved tripping a frag grenade that was tied to a string under it. The Chinese were losing lots of men. There were only eight left after the first thirteen had stormed the building and they acted frustrated. Park and Witt slipped quietely into the hallway behind them. Their leader, identifiable by the gold chevron on his helmet, was chittering rapidly in mandarin.

"Its not looking good for them." Park pointed out the obvious.

"I don't blame them for thinking about giving up." Witt said. "But I don't think they'd have a choice, Long's been up there sniping for God knows how long."

Apparently the Chinese had the idea that they had taken enough casualties because the group stood up a little more easily and went downstairs.

"Why are they leaving?"

"Well they either have a more direct way of dealing with our buddy or they're content to just leave him to starve up there." Witt said.

"Opportunity?"

"Bet your ass." Witt said and snapped his rifle up to advance. They took it slowly the camouflaged M416 a shimmer in the dimly lit hallway. He and park dashed into the stairwell as the Chinese soldier on stair guard turned away. They went up two levels of stairs before coming across the next trap, a cluster of grenades over a black colored trip wire.

"Glad we didn't step on that." Witt noted and scanned for the catch, it was just too easy for them to disarm, could there be a claymore around with a laser trip? Witt drew out his cutters-

"Wait." Park hissed. "check how those are wired; if you cut, the grenades go hot and roll down the steps."

"Fuck." Witt said and put them away. "Good catch."

"Follow me." Park set his rifle on the floor and unstealthed as he climbed onto the safety railing and began to crawl up the narrow metal bar. It was a snails pace because he kept checking for traps but Park found none and made it safely. Witt tossed him his rifle and followed him but at a much quicker pace. The HUD flashed blue through the wall for just a second- Long was here and whatever he was using to mask his presence from Witt had failed just long enough for Witt's crosscom to get a fix.

"There." Witt said and used a motion sensor on the door. No movement, nor was there any heat from a laser trip designator. Even so, Witt tested the doorknob slowly and pushed the door open then jerked back. The bouncing mine leaped up and exploded, the fragments punching through the walls as though they weren't there, tearing holes in the camouflage cloak and stopping once they hit Witt's Dragonskin body armor. It felt as though he had been punched in the back and that threw him off for a second. Park didn't miss a beat, he whirled into the door properly and tripped over the tight wire that was obscured by the dust and debris, tripping the concussion grenade that fell right on top of him.

Witt turned right into the blast and caught the full force –

His world was black and white, he couldn't move and when he came to his vision altered between pure white and blurred colors and then resolved into definite shapes. His ears whined as though there was some terrible feedback on a speaker. He was kneeling on the ground and had dropped his rifle to cover his ears. A concussion grenade had a thousand watt candle power, due to the magnesium charge loaded in it. If the eye looked directly into the flash, an afterimage would be temporarily burned into the retina leaving a black and white still vision, and coupled with the sound of the bang in close proximity it would disrupt the inner ear leaving its victim stunned for up to seven seconds.

Park had found out that a stun grenade was still deadly when it landed on your chest.

Witt's hearing returned to a wall of screaming as Park flailed on the ground trying to pat out the fires that had spouted on his cloak, the thing shorted out flashing bright blue, then green, then shimmering white before becoming its usual grey color. Witt slowly stood and caught a flicker in the air just for a moment.

The next thing he knew Witt was tumbling and groping for something he couldn't see and rolled across a floor that was strewn with glass and debris. Witt felt something knee him in the gut but the dragon skin absorbed the blow, Witt responded by throwing his head forward and feeling it connect with something soft that he couldn't see. That was enough to throw the camouflage off for a flicker- Witt was grappling with Long who was about a head "higher" than him so that Long's ankles were at Witt's knees.

"Why'd you fucking do it?" Witt snarled as Long's fingers snaked around his lips as they groped for purchase. Witt smacked an armored elbow into Long's face with a satisfying crack. Witt tore off Long's helmet and headbutted him again, getting blood spat into his eyes for the trouble. Witt jerked back instinctively and then felt something hard land in his groin, sending him reeling off. A single wipe of his eyes and a blink revealed Long's fizzling shape lunging forward with what looked like the sharpened tomahawk in his right hand-

Park barreled out of nowhere knocking the weapon out of his hand and landing a hooked elbow in Long's face. The two grappled on the ground while Witt scrambled for his sidearm on his hip. Witt stood and aimed.

"Stop." Witt barked.

They both did. Witt gestured for Park to move aside and leave Witt a clean shot.

"Why are you fucking doing it Long." Witt hissed. "You know rules of engagement, you don't shoot noncombatants like that."

"Fuck ROE." Long snapped back, he was a defiant man, he was a Ghost. "ROE keeps us from doing our job."

"It makes us do our job _right_" Witt said. "What makes you think that you're above the rules? You've been riding my authority ever since we got in theater; the fuck is your problem?"

"You wouldn't understand Ghost." Long shook his head, both his hands were easily propping him up, as if he didn't care whether Witt shot him now or not.

"You're a Ghost too." Park said.

"I wasn't before." Long smirked and had that gleam in his eye that told Witt there was much more than his outward appearance. "I was part of the CIA kill team."

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"Means he never had rules of engagement." Witt said feeling a chill run up his spine. Ghosts were a special forces team commited by the US army for their special interests abroad and operated under a deniable operations rule. That was the point of Ghost Recon, they were never supposed to be there.

The CIA was off the books entirely, no that was wrong there weren't _even books_ about what they had done but the rumors spread like wildfire. Conspiracy operations involving John F Kennedy, toppling Communist governments in Central America in the 1980s, illegal operations in Cambodia and Laos. Rules didn't apply to them, people didn't even realize these men were players. They were amoral.

"And what got you kicked off that team?' Witt snarled, he felt himself becoming angry. This man had no honor, not the way a soldier of the US army had honor. This man was a cheater, a spook. Not a real Ghost. Before Long could say anything, Sullivan interjected.

"_Sierra Lead, visual on multiple armored vehicles coming from the north. They don't look Chinese or Korean."_

"Say again? How Copy?"

"_Lots of Tanks and foot mobiles. They are not Chinese, say again they are not Chinese."_

"Who are they?"

* * *

><p>2130 – Vladivostok<p>

The firefight had dragged into a stalemate. How many had Blanco killed? She tossed the empty magazine of her Kalashnikov rifle and snapped the next one in and charged the handle. The Russians had chased her merrily around the entire complex and had madly fallen into all of her surprises, trip wires that left the soldier exposed on the ground for her to rake with fire and rigged doors were just the tip of the iceburg they were finding. Blanco tore off her balaclava for comfort, the air was stinging cold and the bullet that had cut her cheek left the blood to scab very quickly in the chill. She tossed the hat upward and caused a stream of fire to instinctively follow it giving her the half second she needed to pop up, sight her target and fire, hitting another soldier down the hallway with a five round burst.

She was only waiting on one thing more now, for the Iridium satellite to angle towards the south so that her message would be sent. She already had the email with code files attached to it so that once the US started broadcasting, they could crash the Kamatchka uplink sites and begin their infiltration.

But she needed more _time_. Blanco scrambled her fingers around a frag grenade and tossed it back handed the shout that followed let Blanco pop back up and identify another target, her grenade wasn't armed and she put a burst through the thin metal of the upturned table. She dashed down the hallway which would lead in a round about again as she dropped the rifle, fumbled for a stun grenade in one and checked if the email was ready in the next. Yes!

Blanco thumbed the email and sent it on its way.


	30. Chapter 29

2200 – USS _Bataan_

"Yes!" Colonel Beasely couldn't help but slap the table in his excitement. The hotprinter in the Carrier's Combat Direction Center was spewing out the physical printout of the electronic code that was already being downloaded into the F-35E Queers that to begin the satellite Uplink disruption. They'd be shooting off soon.

Beasely took a look at the email, its subject matter was titled STORMBREAKER. It sounded cool to Beasely, he'd be using that soon. He got onto the ship intercom and spoke.

"Ladies and Gentlemen we've received our Uplink codes, data files should be transferred now. Ready up, mission is green lighted. Full operational go will be coded STORMBREAKER." Beasely nodded to the Captain of the ship who probably didn't like a real soldier sitting in the command area of his ship but had to suck it up because Beasely technically was the same rank. Colonel Beasely walked out of the CDC and jogged into the hallways where he could hear the echoes of thousands of boots slapping onto the deck. He strode onto the Hangar deck where his battalion was suiting up. It was their full attack force, Schwartzkopf tanks, Fastback IFVs, all were being refueled and undergoing last minute tune ups to ensure that the machines ran perfectly. The infantry, Ghost riflemen and Pioneer combat engineers were kitting out to their full, with power armored joints to reduce the strain on muscles, heavy packs, full HUDs, heavy weapons, spider leaping mines and explosives. Beasely walked up to one of his Captains and tapped him on the shoulder.

"Spread the word, make sure everyone gets a good meal before they go out, I don't want you all weighing yourselves down with extra MREs, necessities only today."

"Yes sir." The Captain nodded and fumbled for his straps. Beasely helped tie it for him.

"Thanks sir."

"Good luck Captain." Beasely touched his forehead in a casual salute before striding off to do the usual round of getting rid of pre-mission jitters. A pat on the back, checking ammunition, a casual joke, those things went a long way on a crowded hangar deck. Beasely went to the lift where a pair of Blackfoot attack helicopters were loaded on in preparation for launch. Beasely took a look behind him, noting that none of the Valkyrie or Goshawk VTOL aircraft were above yet, those would be loaded down here with their infantry and vehicle passengers.

The lift was a leisurely ride onto the deck where the final F-35 had just shot off with an earsplitting scream and a gust of wind that almost tossed Beasely's hat off if he hadn't been pressing it down on his scalp. There was a blocky vehicle at the aft end of the Marine Carrier, he walked over to it and saluted the Lieutenant who was scrubbing the sides. The words WARLORD had been freshly painted on it.

"I thought you might like the call sign sir." The Lieutenant grinned, Beasely nodded and ran his hands over the shining black words.

"I love it lieutenant." Beasely ducked his head under the closing hatch of the Archon command vehicle and waited.

* * *

><p>2200 – Pusan<p>

Angels came in waves and they definitely came in on high. Swedo didn't know they sounded and looked a lot like Cobra and Blackfoot gunships though, the sky was full of them and the beat of the rotors was so loud the gravel on the street actually shook. He had been too busy wiping the blood off of his rifle, some Skinny had thought it would be a good idea to try to get him with a bayonet and had almost gotten away with it too if Swedo simply hadn't taken one step back and fired a burst off his hip and stitched all of them up his chest. The man's throat had exploded on Swedo and his weapon was dirty now.

He didn't know if blood would actually disrupt the firing mechanism of his rifle, he didn't think it could. The SCAR was a robust weapon and designed to take abuse. He didn't mind that the blood had gotten on his face, Swedo felt it made himself look fiercer. But blood on his gun, that wasn't right. The weapon needed to be cleaned. When the first helicopters roared overhead, Swedo hadn't looked up. But when they actually shook the gravel in the foxhole, he poked his head out.

The gunships swooped in like Angels, rockets streaming fire and smoke from their pods, chin mounted machine guns roaring as spent casings rained down from above. Swedo couldn't help but grin again. He gave a silent salute to them and watched them fly off. It distracted him slightly from the bootsteps that were thudding around him. Swedo popped out of his foxhole and raised his rifle-

"Check fire! Check fire!" The voice was English but heavily accented. "I'm a friendly!"

"You're not American." Swedo found his voice, it was very strange that his mouth slurred when he said it. He didn't take the rifle sights off him. The man had the slightest cock of his head at that and moved his rifle so that his hand was nowhere near the trigger and raised his hand toward Swedo.

"I'm Australian." The man said. "How long you been stuck out here mate?"

"I'm holding the line."

"Line got pushed back thataways." The Australian pulled him out of the crumpled hole. He looked so _new_. His uniform didn't have much dirt on it, he was clean shaven, his teeth were white. He smelled strongly of lavender soap.

"I'm holding the line." Swedo repeated. The rumble of a tank made him turn his head and snap up his rifle, but it was a Schwartzkopf squadron that chugged steadly forward. It seemed to regard his foxhole for a moment but simply drove over it, continuing forward as if taking a stroll down a sunny lane.

"When's the last time you eaten?" The Australian recoiled slightly from Swedo's breath.

"Day. Maybe two."

"Christ mate." The Australian smiled and nudged Swedo forward. "You look like God fucking took a dump on ya. Line's thataway. Good on ya!"

"Where are you going?" Swedo looked down at himself and it was as if his eyes were opened. His helmet HUD was completely gone now, his sights were broken, he remembered a piece of shrapnel had ricocheted in both and shattered the glass. His uniform was covered in dents and rents where bullets and shrapnel had been stopped. He was caked in blood and dirt. His grey uniform didn't even look that way anymore, his front was a mix of black and red. Swedo coughed and was surprised to see blood drip out of his mouth and onto his knuckle.

"Gonna go wrangle me some Chinese before the others do." The Aussie said.

Swedo tried to wave, it just felt awkward. He turned back to see the armored column with some soldiers sitting on the hulls looking down at him. They all looked new, not all of them were American he could see. A Canadian flag on one shoulder, Chilean on another, New Zealand painted on the front of a helmet. He didn't even have a helmet all Swedo had now was a broken rifle. He managed six steps before falling forward and blacking out.

* * *

><p>2200 – Pusan<p>

"Not liking this LT." Leukauf said as he traversed the turret left and right. The Schwartzkopf was rumbling down a street and bumped up and down as it hit what had to be each pothole from here to Seoul. There was a lot of debris here; in hostile territory, debris was not a tank's friend. Shattered concrete, sidewalk and potholes could hide mines, improvised explosive devices, live artillery shells that hadn't detonated. Despite all the advances made in tank armor since the early twenty first century there was no sort of practical defense for protecting tank tracks which were still the most vulnerable part of the tank.

"I know what you mean." Sergeant Allen replied. "Stay cool. I'm gonna poke my head up."

Allen popped the hatch and got his whiff of the warzone. The air was stale, hot muggy and his nose was immediately assaulted by burnt rock, musky smoke, and charred metal. The entire sky was a dark grey, courtesy of the rising smoke and night. Occasionally it would flash and tracers from some anti air battery would fly heavenward. Ahead of him were the armored shapes of four Australian Challenger tanks and the upper octave whine of a number of Cougar ACVs rolled past Allen's tank.

"_Mustang, Lead, Eagles have eyes on enemy forward positions and are engaging now. Estimated time on target, five mikes. Weapons are hot at this time."_

"Hard copy." Allen responded into the boom mike and closed the hatch below him to block out the noise of explosions echoing through the rubble. He patted Diggs on the helmet. "Spool up."

Diggs pressed the button on the loader to begin spinning the electromagnets on the rail gun so that the system was powered. Allen took a deep breath. It had been almost nonstop fighting during the retreat, and Allen's only experience at tank warfare so far had been defending. He was a triple Ace in the tank world, he had seventeen kills accredited to his team which was confirmed by gun cameras. That wasn't uncommon in this theater though, the Korean People's Army simply did _not_ field a tank good enough to match the Schwartzkopf or even the Abrams or Panther. The Chicomms could barely hold their own against the latter two. But the enemy's weight of numbers began taking their toll, especially with ammunition running low. Allen's tank was only running with half its normal load, mostly sabot rounds, only a single HEAT, no APAT and three FRAG. His 7.62 mm grenade launchers were fully loaded however, that was something.

"_Mustang, Lead, take her to the right at this intersection, we're going to encircle. Keep the enemy surpressed for the infantry."_

"Go right at the intersection." Allen's told the driver and activated the Infrared nightvision on his periscope. The world was a ghostly green hue in this light, and the periscope would only let him see just over the turrets of the four Abrams in front of him. A flash of movement to his right made him turn the scope on Canadian infantry which were tagged blue on the scope's HUD. They were advancing quietely, rifles at the ready and hugging the wall-

An explosion ripped through the lead Challenger, casting smoke and debris at the front of the intersection.

"_IED, IED, Dogie two is hit!"_

"Turn turn!" Allen barked and the Schwartzkopf rumbled to the right, over the sidewalk and crushing a street lamp in the process.

"_Contact front! Contact front!"_ an Australian voice shouted over the channel. "_designating enemy infantry, platoon strength-"_

"_Dogie, contact spread, suppression fire."_ The squadron leader ordered.

"Target, foot mobiles ten o'cock low!" Allen was already moving to action, zooming the periscope to center on a fireteam that was scrambling amongst the rubble. "Get them with the GL!"

"On it!" the turret swung left to bring the main gun and alongside grenade launcher in line and burped out a quartet of rounds. Two of the soldiers were tossed a foot into the air like dolls before crumpling amongst the rubble.

"Good hit!" Allen shouted. He turned the periscope upward to compensate for the tank's sudden lurch into a crater and down the next intersection. The squadron was swinging right, he heard the sound of booted feet on the top hatch as the infantry scrambled forward to make contact. Allen flipped the thermal vision on in front, throwing the world into black and white to show heat-

"Target, building eleven o'clock third deck window!" Allen shouted, there was a white shape moving around in there, a Chinese soldier that was scrambling for a missile launcher.

"Target aquired!" the gun elevated to that position.

"Shoot!" Four more grenades blasted the space. "Good hit!"

Allen ordered the turret to be traversed left to point at the enemy lines that his gunner raked with grenades to suppress the enemy forward positions. Sandbags, chunks of gravel and human all were blown and mixed together in the explosions.

It felt good to be advancing for once.


	31. Chapter 30

2200 – AO Yankee, _USS Oregon_.

An hour had passed. Nothing, not even the slightest twitch on the sonar. The ship had never been this tense before, not even operating against the Chinese where the action had been real and the dangers present. Maybe it was the fact that for once, Captain Portman and the crew of _Oregon_ were fighting a foe that was on the same footing as they were. Portman blew a bubble and let it pop. He wished he could pop the tension he was feeling in the red glow of the attack center.

"Maybe he's gone." Commander Grifen rubbed his eyes and frowned.

"I wouldn't take that chance." Portman popped another wad of gum in his mouth, his chewing was quick. Someone had playfully called him Captain Chipmunk once but that was smacked down hard by the XO.

"Maybe we could slip out." Grifen suggested. "He probably can't hear us."

"Probably." Portman didn't want to disengage. The Chinese played sloppy when it came to fleet work, and here he was toe to toe and blindfolded with an equal adversary. Which one would reign supreme in this match? "Give it another twenty minutes and we'll duck under the thermal and get out of here."

"Aye Captain."

"Helm, ready right full rudder, make our heading zero nine zero. All ahead one third." Portman called. "Stations sound off."

"Helm aye."

"Sonar Aye."

"Diving Aye."

"Execute." _USS Oregon_ made its sharp turn to starboard, bringing its bow and mast sonars to bear directly behind them. It was, ironically, a Russian tactic that the US SSBN captains referred to as "Crazy Ivan". A sharp sudden turn was initiated to take a peek at a sub that was hanging around behind, trailing in the baffles to blind them to a trailing towed array sonar. It was a heavy five minutes as _USS Oregon _made its long circle toward the west.

The Crazy Ivan wasn't fullproof. The Russian could be using the American tactic of crash stopping in the baffles and keeping buoyancy, a difficult maneuver that kept them completely hidden. Of course the alternative to doing that was running right into _Oregon_ or risking detection.

"Sonar, what do you hear?"

"Nothing but the rain." Sonar chuckled.

Well that was it then.

"XO, take us out of the AO, I think we've done enough." Portman didn't realize he had been holding his breath and released it.

"Aye aye sir. Helm, come left to one eight zero-"

"Conn, Sonar, flow noises at one zero two."

Portman took three quick strides into the sonar booth and leaned in.

"How far out?"

"Not far. Maybe two or three miles. Can't get a confirmed count, its really faint."

"Check the D band." One of the ratings suggested and the Sonar operator flipped a switch and tuned the dials, his eyes furrowing in concentration as he pressed one hand to his headphones and his eyes reflected the glow of the computer readout.

"There." The Sonarman jabbed a finger at the pink spike that leaped up suddenly. "That's a deliberate flow, not natural. Or that's a volcanic vent."

"If I bring us closer you can track it?"

"Yes sir." The Sonarman cricked his neck. Portman keyed the overhead intercom.

"XO, take her to one zero two at two thirds."

"Aye aye sir."

It was a waiting game now, Portman couldn't be impatient. If he sped up, he risked being heard and therefore risked being killed. He would creep slowly toward the contact and then figure out whether it was real or not. The computer trace spiked upward regularly, the rating typed commands into the keyboard and read the screen.

"That's a transient." The Sonarman blew out a breath. "transient contact on previous bearing, designating Sierra one. He's heading north, crossing port to starboard. That's his blades turning sir, he's got something stuck there, maybe a wire or something."

"How do you know?"

"Well it's a single screw boat, and if I count right he's making turns for twelve knots, which should be his silent running if it's a Chicomm. But it sounds like a penny going through the wash sir, real faint but enough that I can hear. I think the wire got tangled up in the screws and is rattling it some."

Portman had a chuckle at that.

"What's so funny Cap'n?"

"That pollution is what's going to kill this bastard." Portman chuckled and walked out into the attack center and keyed the intercom. "Crew, my intention is to close to firing distance with our contact and fire training shots at it, then shoot with Mark 48 ADCAPS."

Portman could see a couple of the sailors smile at that. So they'd spook the sub, and then they'd kill it for real. Finally some fun in this war.

"XO, set it up." Portman ordered and hung a hand on the overhead pipe that served as both a coolant valve and a handhold.

"PWO, flood tubes one and two silent and open outer doors. Load three and four and flood tubes but keep doors closed."

The Principle Weapons Officer made the tubes ready. "Tubes one and two are ready in all respects sir. Three and four loaded but cold."

"Tape is running?" The XO asked Sonar. Good idea, it would be good for morale to watch how they just fucked with the enemy for their amusement before sending him to Davy Jones.

"Recording."

"Shoot one and two." Portman ordered. The PWO depressed the firing keys and jets of pressurized water shot out of the opened one and two creating a massive squelching sound that could be heard for miles. It would have the effect of spamming a Sonar with a loud enough noise to hurt ears if they were on a low setting and if it worked right-

"Oscar one has kicked up their blade count, going twenty knots to the starboard sir!"

"Ready three and four, reload one and two with Mark 48s and make ready." The XO said, Portman was content to just let him do the work for now. All the Captain was really obliged to do was give the order to shoot.

"Three and four ready in all respects-"

"_Transient transient_ new contact designating Oscar two bearing zero nine five crossing to starboard, turning for twenty five knots-"

"Identify range between Oscar one and Oscar two!" Portman snapped and stopped chewing.

"Estimate one thousand yards Captain, Two is-"

"Identify Oscar two!"

"Working sir! One is turning to starboard, and flooding tubes-"

"Captain!" the rating interjected and in the background Portman could hear the hotprinter still spitting out information. "That's not a Chinese sub-"

That was all Portman needed to hear. "Tracking party, target Oscar two with ready torpedoes and target Oscar one with tubes one and two."

"Firing solution in ten seconds-"

"Oscar one is opening outer doors-"

"Ready countermeasures!" the XO said.

"Firing solution set for three and four!"

"Match generated bearings and _shoot!" _Portman couldn't help but shout. The squelch ran through the sub again, this time it was joined by the whine of two wire guided torpedoes leaving their tubes.

"Three and four fired electrically and running hot!"

It was another race for time, how long would it take for _Oregon's_ torpedoes to reach their target and when would the Chinese torpedoes reach theirs?

"Oscar two is dropping countermeasures, he's diving-_Torpedoes in the water!_ Counting four fish from the starboard –he's cut wires and they are active and pinging! Torpedoes have acquired us!"

Portman stood still. This was how wars were fought here, between Captains who stood and chewed bubblegum while they blew each other up-

"Hit! Three and four have solid hits on Oscar two, hull break up noises!"

Those four Chicomm torpedoes were still running hot though, Portman opened his mouth to give the order but his crew had already moved. Simultaneously dropping a pair of noisemakers into the water and cutting all the engines while flooding the forward tubes and aft ballast tanks made _Oregon_ drop like a lead casket, creating a knuckle in the water. The Virgina class sub plummeted four hundred feet in six seconds. Portman was caught offguard and thrown to the deck by the violence of the maneuver; faintly he could hear the crew and XO trading orders and suddenly the falling sensation stopped, followed by a groan and tremor that ran through the submarine .

Portman got up from the deck, tasting something hot and metal on his lips. His gum was gone and he wiped the blood from his mouth.

"We're alive Skipper." Grifen grinned.

"That was extremely resourceful of you X." Portman patted his second in command on the back. He felt better than ever, even if his mouth hurt like hell. They'd just killed a Russian sub, and they hadn't proven so tough.

* * *

><p>000 – USS <em>Enterprise<em>

Lieutenant Miles Pierrera was technically a Captain now although he didn't feel much like one. He thought that the jitters would go away yesterday when his squadron had been scrambled to take on the Chinese fighters which were beaten badly back. The fleet had even launched a wave of its own scoring hits on the Chinese fleet although Miles didn't know how badly they were hit. He'd heard rumors ranging between three carriers sunk to only a handful of destroyers and frigates destroyed.

It didn't matter, what mattered was that he didn't actually get to fight yesterday and with a big operation with the Joint Strike Force (somebody had lamely called it Operation Stormbreaker) almost literally on the horizon the shakes in his hands were retuning. Pierrera took the lift up to the flight deck where the Red eye watch crewmen were just beginning to come aboard. Pierrera walked up to his fighter which was being pushed by a team into place as his weapons were loaded in: Joint Strike Munitions, a pair of SLAMRAAM long range radar seekers. and then the racks for a pair of Antiradiation missiles Pierrera slipped on his helmet to muffle the roar of an F-18 shooting off the deck as he ran a hand under his F-19's airframe. Those ARMs wouldn't be good for his stealth frame but that was okay, they were going to be the first ones ejected from his plane in addition to the fuel tank that was being stored underneath.

Operation STORMBREAKER was already underway and Pierrera would be the fighter jockey leading the charge straight into Kamatchka, the hottest zone.

"I hope that rack is screwed on tight." Pierrera noted sourly to the redshirt he recognized as the one who apologized personally for breaking the former Captain's leg. The red shirt flushed the shirt's color and then saluted to let Pierrera onto the step ladder and into the cockpit where his gloves and mask were waiting for him. He booted up his HUD and lowered the window.

"Clipper base, Striker one is five by five and ready to taxi." Pierrera said as soon as he activated the channel and performed his routine preflight checks.

"_Solid copy Striker Lead wind is twenty dead on. Checkers green, sky is yours._"

At least the takeoff would be easy, Pierrera mused. Carrier takeoffs on a shortened runway risked the fighter not getting enough velocity to lift off, but sailing into the wind would lift the airframe high enough for the propulsion to kick it forward.

He watched the hand signals of the blue shirted crewman as Pierrera gripped the forward handle and opened the throttle wide in preparation for launch, he felt the magnetic clamps slam into the wheels and prep him for flight. To his right, Hulk was pushed into position.

There was always one last thing the blue shirt would do before Pierra could launch, it was a wave combined with an exaggerated salute that turned into a kneeling track pose as the saluting hand touched the ground and pointed. Pierrera would salute back and as the crewman's hand dipped, he would be shot forward at a velocity so fast he was hanging by the edge of his fingers.


	32. Chapter 31

000 – North of Kongwong Bo mountains.

"_Identify enemy tanks, platoon strength." _Sullivan whispered into the channel while Witt scrambled up, leaving Park to train his recover his rifle and train it on Long.

"Gimme the gun." Long gestured to his Chey-Tach Intervention. "We'll be needing it soon if it's Russians."

"How do you know it is?" Witt snapped as he peered out the window to see six tanks of a type he wasn't familiar with, but looked sinister enough followed by what looked like armored sleds with wheels and a twin antiaircraft gun and radar on top of the box turret. Infantry deployed from them.

"Because we've been waiting for the Russians to hit this place for awhile." Long hissed, he still didn't move but managed to convey his defiance with his voice. "And if they're here and there's just the three of us you'd better bet we should have our guns."

"Russians don't look so tough." Witt said as he saw the infantry spread in a decent line contact formation. The missiles licked out and scored a few hits on the tanks but to no avail. The tanks released a stream of flame in response, torching the buildings with what looked like a Napalm flamethrower.

"That thing could burn us out in a second." Witt realized. "Let's hope the Chinese are too busy to take care of our Russian friends to worry about us."

"So what are you going to do with me?" Long asked.

"I've got an idea." Park snarled. "We put one through your chest, and then one through your head, how's that sound?"

"Let him up." Witt said. "We'll need him."

Long slowly rose up and gave Witt a look as he reached for his Sniper rifle. Witt nodded. Long snapped the bolt in and peered through the scope toward the noise.

"Yep. Type 100 Ogre." Long whistled. "They only deploy those with their Class A troops. We can be expecting their Spetsnaz or heavy infantry here any time."

"Those aren't?" Witt said as he watched the Russian infantry dash from cover to cover, their IR markers flashing in Witt's NV.

"No, regular army troops. They're good but Spetsnaz don't move around with IR markers. If we can see them like that, they're there as a distraction." Long said. "So I'm guessing the Wolves are moving around in a flanking attack."

"If the Chinese had enough troops they could probably hold the town." Witt said with a sour look at Long. The sniper shrugged.

"They're our enemies too."

"Best chance for us is to slip out while we're fighting." Witt said.

"And if not?" Park gripped his rifle harder.

"We do what he's been doing." Witt jerked his head toward the sniper who was checking the battery power on his cloak. "Kill everyone we see."

* * *

><p>000 – Sea of Japan<p>

It was a new day, and the PANTO fleet heading northward to strike at Kamatchka began it by launching its entire air group along with land based elements from Northern Japan. Six entire regiments of fighters, nearly a thousand, streaked northward toward the Russian sea bases. The fighter regiments consisted mostly of F/A-18s off the carrier fleet, Korean and Japanese F-15s and F-35s from every nation participating. The thousand fighters would spearhead the landings and clear the way for the Joint Strike Force Regiments, two thousand men strong , to strike at five different naval bases in a series of raids. Kamatchka itself would be subject to the biggest raid, with eight hundred troops forming the core of the assault force.

The bases however were defended first and foremost by the formidable Russian Satellite warning system, similar to the system used in the US and Europe.

Satellite warfare wasn't new to the United States and especially her Joint Strike Force. Even in the 1980s the United States had a fully functioning satellite countermeasure that enabled it great leverage over the Soviet Union and today it would be used against the Russians again.

The Japanese and Korean F-15s upon reaching a distance of 500 miles off the strike points, nosed upwards and began climbing rapidly on afterburners. They were stripped down to the bare minimum, only cannon rounds, fuel tanks and a single missile underslung the fuselage. This weapon, developed in the 80s had been refined to pinpoint accuracy in this modern age and was equipped with a powerful forward radar on its nose, similar to that almost of a fighter. Aiming upwards, the weapons began tracking satellites, GPS and radar indiscriminately locking. At a command, the missiles were launched and three hundred missiles lanced upward at only sixty targets.

The Russians, if they had been prepared for the attack, could maneuver rapidly away from the missiles and jam them. The satellites burn trails were more than enough to outrun a missile in high atmosphere. The Russians however were caught flatfooted. They had detected the beginnings of a massive air raid by their satellite radars and had been so focused on that, they failed to notice that a large portion had begun to climb and fire weapons at them. That was the genius behind a fighter based ASAT weapon – a satellite controller couldn't tell the difference between a normal air attack or an attack aimed at the satellite.

The missiles tracked in and boosted up to Mach 6 climbing and burning tremendous amounts of fuel. The radar was extremely accurate and powerful enough to burn through most standard jamming. The Russian satellites began evasive burns, ten lost control and burned up as they fell into the atmosphere. Thirty six were struck with direct hits. The remaining fourteen succeeded in evading attacks but the damage was done. Russian communications between military units and bases, forward radar arrays, cell phone, internet and television all winked out when PANTO launched its attack.

The first wave of fighters were composed of the stealth elements, F-19s and F-35s (ground attack, interceptor, and electronic warfare). The second immediately behind it were the F-18s and remaining F-15s outfitted for ground attack. They would remain on station to support the Joint Strike Force elements when they landed. The final wave was composed of the Joint Strike Force elements themselves. All were loaded on Valkyrie and Goshawk VTOL aircraft unless they were the Blackfoot gunship squadorns who were just beginning to top off their fuel loads from F/A-18s with buddy fuel tank systems to compensate for the long distance they had to cross for the strike.

The twilight hours were heralded by the sounds of screaming aircraft over the ocean.

* * *

><p>000 Vladivostok<p>

Blanco didn't know if they had gotten the message, she didn't care. She didn't have time to. How many men had she killed? A dozen? Two dozen? The weapons of modern war gave powerful resources to the lone soldier who was smart enough to utilize every advantage she had. She was down to a single rifle and magazine now, along with her own silenced wraith .22 and a single stun grenade. The uplink site smelled _terrible_. Blanco poured water from one of the dead soldier's canteens over her balaclava to wet it and wring around her nose so that the smell would be dampened. They said death smelled sweet, some cloying stench that wrapped around the nose and throttle the lungs as though one didn't breathe the air but drink it. Blanco felt that way right now.

The Russians had retreated back into the doorway, leaving maybe three of their comrades behind while the rest were dragged out. They were smart, using their speed and momentum well in standard room clearing operations, but a prepared enemy could use that against them, forcing direction changes by the changing the terrain of the room, throwing confusion amongst her enemies and getting closer than she was supposed to.

Blanco heard footsteps down the hall and flipped down the goggles and punched the sonar emitter. The sound waves detected and visualized two soldiers slowly coming down the hall. They were learning, watching for tripwires and other surprises Blanco might have laid. Too bad she hadn't had time to lay more or any more of them to lay anyway. But they were alone. Blanco stood up, and ran up and down in place, being sure to make it seem as though her foot falls were echoing away.

"There!" one of them whispered, just barely audible.

"I have you covered."

Blanco keyed the sonar again and caught the image of them in mid jog. Just as they rounded the corner of the hallway to her left, Blanco lashed out, her left hand smacking the rifle up so that it discharged harmlessly into the ceiling while she pivoted and jabbed her right hand which held the wraith around the Russian's waist. She emptied the clip into the Russian, the noise was suppressed and couldn't be heard over the surprised shout of the Russian she had smacked into. She caught a flash of her rounds stitching up his partners chest and then catching him in the throat, just as she stepped inward so that her knee was at the soldier's groin and she smacked her elbow across his face, knocking him completely off balance. The soldier fell and Blanco put a round in his eye. The other, blood bubbling from his throat, scrambled for his rifle but Blanco shot him before he could even touch it.

More shouting down the hallway, Blanco snatched up both of their weapons and grenades before keying the sonar goggles again. Six men coming around, a full fire team. Blanco set a pair of grenades in the fingers of one of the dead and wrapped twine around the pins, ensuring that the safety handles were squeezed by the dead hand. She trailed the twin around the corner and waited.

Sure enough, there were the six storming down the hallway, rifles at the ready. They slowed as they approached their dead comrades. One of them muttered something Blanco couldn't hear, that was probably the leader. She keyed the sonar again, they were spread out, Blanco would only get two in the blast maybe, but the noise would be enough. She yanked the twine and heard a shout. There was a five second delay on those grenades so the enemy would have time to run. Blanco wasn't as surprised as the first soldier as he rounded the corner and came face to face with her. She fired a silenced shot into his head. The second immediately after him caught another suppressed round between the eyes. Then the explosion took them off their feet, Blanco was successfully shielded by the hallway corner. This Uplink was made of sturdy stuff. She brought up one of the captured rifles and hosed the hallway blind, emptying the clip and tossing the rifle as she keyed the sonar again. They were all dead except for one who was on the ground writhing in pain.

Blanco rounded the corner and killed him with a mercy shot.


	33. Chapter 32

0030 – Sea of Japan

It was much the same as every other combat mission Cotugno had flown thus far. Go down the runway, lift off into the air, check in with the on station AWACs and then settle into the pilots seat for the long flight ahead. There were some minor differences, sure. There were many other planes flying now and they were fighting what Cotugno finally considered a force that was on equal footing with the United States but all in all it was the same.

The prep was very much different than before. Cotugno had experience flying at night by now. He slept from noon to 8, and didn't drink any coffee so that he wouldn't crash. Inside the cockpit he brought along a small quarter pint can of energy drink that tasted as though cat piss had gone through detergent and out a dogs ass but would give him 6 straight hours of pure adrenaline without a crash, and a bottle of water to wash out the taste.

Cotugno checked the time and took that moment to drink the energy liquid. There was that disgusting grimace that was reflexive with the taste before he pulled the flight mask back on and readjusted his position in the seat.

"_Gold group, execute."_ Evil Eye squawked.

To his right and left, fighters peeled off racing skyward and aiming their ASAT missiles.

Cotugno continued forward and increased his throttle a bit to pull him ahead of the other fighters. The F-22s and F-35Es would be the feeler elements of the air group, moving forward and broadcasting targeting information to the other fighters so they could clear the way for the JSF landing troops.

Cotugno ran his mind over his foe today: the Russians had a very modern air force, mixing their old Sukhois and Migs with their top of the line low cross section and stealthy fighters like the Mig-50 Thunderbird. That was another stealth fighter that was at least the equal to the F-22. Cotugno was already a triple ace, going on to his 17th kill with 2 of those being stealth fighters. He was fully loaded and stealthy for today: AIM-10 Quarrels and heat seeking Sidewinders in all of his missile bays and a full load of 20mm cannon, good for 60 seconds of sustained fire.

"_Gold group is reporting hits. Drop tanks."_ The AWACS ordered and Cotugno thumbed the forward gel screen and let the twin fuel tanks fall into the sea, simultaneously with the rest of the craft in the strike group. For the JSF forces their tankers began their final top offs and turned away, leaving the strike force under the sole protection of the fighters. "_Red group, we are officially in the Combat AO at this time."_

"Roger." Cotugno replied. It was twenty minutes of silent flying now, there wasn't the usual banter between the Rogues before they went into battle. They had suffered few losses-how could they? They were the best 4 plane element in the theater in Cotugno's opinion – but the jollity of combat had worn off by now. Too much work and not enough rest. Now he understood why some soldiers were forced on leave.

"_Multiple radar tracks bearing zero one three. Estimate twenty bandits, type unknown. Red group, snap to intercepts, you are weapons free."_

"WILCO. Rogues on me."

"Two." "Three." "Four."

Cotugno made the slight adjustment to the right and waited for the HUD to link up completely with the E-7 Eagle Eye's tracking software. In a second multiple red boxes, most overlapping, appeared in the distance.

"_Identify enemy fighters as Su-27s._"

Those were older models probably on a major combat air patrol for tonight. They'd be cut off from their base but they wouldn't know it. Cotugno counted the range on the HUD go down as his fighter along with the other F-15Ss and F-22s that made up Red group flew on their intercept vector and got into attack range.

"Illuminate. Attack pattern Delta." Cotugno ordered and activated his air search radar, immediately his target screeched good lock. He did not fire however, rather he winked at his target to activate the crosscom signal which broadcasted the targeting information to the F-35s armed with SLAMRAAM long range missiles and they volleyed. Simultaneously, the F-35 Queers flipped on their jammers, suddenly throwing whatever radars that were active into disarray and useless white noise.

"_Good tone Slammer! Fox one!"_

Cotugno flipped his radar off and waited. The enemy were taking no sort of evasive action but were under a deadly threat. The SLAMRAAM missile had an effective range of 80 miles, at the edge of which its fuel would cut out and would be guided to the target on kinetic energy alone. Going at Mach 8 speeds, this wasn't really that big of a problem for a missile that had locked in thirty miles away. The enemy fighters knew they had locks on them but there was no way of knowing where these missiles were and therefore they could not safely evade.

In the dark of night all twenty exploded almost simultaneously.

"Good kills good kills." Cotugno reported.

* * *

><p>1100 – Washington D.C.<p>

It was like watching a movie over dinner. Being the President, Beccerra couldn't often go out to a theater and being President, he could very easily order all those block buster hits to be played right in the White House home theater. However it wasn't often the President got to watch real time holographic feed of his own forces launching an attack against a major superpower that they were not technically at war with yet. That act would be ratified tomorrow first thing in Congress.

Lunch was comfort food, a special gourmet Mac and Cheese that Becerra hadn't exactly grown up on but he still found children's' simplicity very soothing.

"That's the first wave of fighters?" Dominique pointed at the leading fighter symbols that represented a 4 plane element of the strike force.

"Technically that's the second wave." Beccerra explained. "The first wave was the group that just took out their satellites.

"And this one goes in like a sucker punch." Dominique nodded. "Hit them while they're blind."

"You're so smart baby."

"How long is their window?"

"I'm not sure. But I hope it's enough." Becerra stroked his goatee and watched the men he felt personally responsible for lance forward across the table and on the other side of the world.

0045 – Kamatchka combat space

There was a single Russian Naval unit out on patrol, a destroyer by the name of _Aykhal_ and they were running a fire drill at the time their radar screens erupted into white noise.

"What's that?" The radar officer walked over to the green ensign who was gesturing frantically at his screen. "Radar jamming!"

"Battle stations! This is not a drill anymore!" The Officer of the Watch shouted and it bathed the Combat Information Center in red as the alarm bell rang. The Captain was in the engine room overseeing the fire drill. He was on deck in fifteen seconds.

"What's going on here?"

"Captain! Heavy radar jamming to the south!"

"All ahead flank, come about to one eight zero left full rudder full power to the radar and unmask all batteries and get a warning to the ba-"

It was too late. Two missiles struck, one directly hitting the radar tower, the other just above the water line and putting a massive hull in the ship that couldn't be repaired or contained.

The windchill factor in the hull of the Valkyrie VTOL was enough that Lieutenant Goff let her teeth chatter to generate some extra body heat. Her troops were silent, the thrum of the propellers from the VTOL was enough to drive a migraine a mile wide into a brain that wasn't used to the sound.

"_Six mikes to DZ. Hot guns._" The pilot of the intercom said and the two door gunners on either side charged their Mark 19 grenade launchers.

"Ninja! Lock and load!" Goff barked and gestured with her rifle so that those that couldn't hear would understand. The platoon charged their rifles and linked their crosscoms with the Command net so that it could track each individual soldier and its tactical value. Goff was linked up with them as well, she switched to the pilot's channel because she liked to know what was going on even though there wasn't much she could do about it.

"_Eyes on enemy, looks like a destroyer. Distance to target is four miles out."_

"_Uniform Foxtrot six, two F-19s with HARMs are vectoring towards you now, they'll be clearing the path. Be advised they are squawking on this frequency-"_

One of the new stealth birds the Navy was just bringing into production sidled from the clouds down and next to Goff's transport. The F-19 Bobcat was all sleek lines and hard angles to maintain its stealthy nature to radar. There was a mechanical _clack_ as it opened its belly flaps to reveal missiles in the inner compartment.

"_Striker Lead, good tone good tone, Fox three Fox three!"_

From the belly there was a flash of orange so bright that it burned bright red through Goff's closed eyes as the missiles leaped off their rails and raced towards the ship they had locked in on. Goff poked her head out of the door, just next to the gunner and looked forward just in time to see a pair of white flashes through her green infrared night vision Heads Up Display.

"_Good kill Good kill_" The F-19 peeled off, climbing for safety. Looks like they were clear.

"_Two mikes."_ The pilot said again and Goff looked back to her platoon and held up two fingers. The squad leaders nodded and relayed the signal to everyone. There were fifty men in this platoon and although Goff had never actually lead them before, as second in command she knew every detail there was to know about these riflemen. They were Ghosts, they moved stealthily and swiftly using their power armored joints. They were the most advanced fighting force the world had ever known. They were quick, efficient and deadly.

They were her troops.

"Ninja!" She shouted and raised her fist.

"We own the night!" Her platoon completed the cadence.


	34. Chapter 33

0100 – Kamatchka combat space

The base alert was raised upon destruction of the satellites, but they were slow to scramble because their communications via internet and phone were by satellite and it took time for the land lines to be activated. 4000 regular army Russian troops and a small Spetsnaz Guard contingent numbering 600 were roused from their bunks without any real clue as to what was going on. It could have been a drill, a malfunction; they were not all too aware that their satellites had been destroyed, just that they had lost their signal which was common up North where solar wind struck Earth's magnetic fields and caused disruption. It was a standard procedure to bring the base up to the second alert status and was something they had all drilled for and while they took it seriously, did not expect much to come out of it.

Ten minutes later they took things extremely seriously as the first wave of strike fighters arrived. The passive radar systems weren't triggered by the F-19s and F-35s and consequently they were able to slip through the radar and SAM nets to drop their payloads on the first targets – the docked Russian submarines. They were easy targets for laser guided bombs which struck with unerring precision. Once free of their payloads they dove for the deck and began low altitude interference runs, streaming flares and chaff behind them to confuse and sow panic in the troops below. The second and largest wave of attack craft distributed their targets between the naval craft just beginning to sortie, SAM launchers and fuel depots. Bombs in the black dropped and threw fireballs heat and light toward the heavens.

The third wave consisted of the leading elements of the Joint Strike Force troops which were tasked with securing the landing beachhead, among them were the raider light infantry units. 10 Valkyrie craft loaded with Ghost and Pioneer infantry were among the first in.

The Russians were quick to counter this new threat, the division commander had immediately scrambled anti-air crews upon hearing the first explosion and there was a ZSU flak battery that visually acquired the first Valkyrie and opened up. Its heavy rounds shredded the lightly armored aircraft, killing most of the platoon before they even realized what happened. The Valkyrie spun out spewing flame. Its partners were quick to respond with a volley of grenades which destroyed the battery before it could track another target. The AWACs on station was quick to orient a covering flight to ensure that their initial beachhead was secured and to provide the deploying Ghosts with eyes. The Valkyries floated ten meters above the ground as their troops rapelled down and touched Russian soil for the first time in the war.

They were almost immediately met with rifle fire.

This was _war_.

"_Rope Rope Rope!"_ Goff shouted as she shoved the first man out of the starboard side door and onto the line where he fastroped the thirty feet down. She tried to hear over the combined choir of chopping rotors, grenades burping and exploding and rifle rounds pinging against the heavily armored hulls of the Vaklyrie. The door gunners picked their targets firing their Mark 19s in bursts of three at each clump of muzzle flash they saw. Goff pushed the next one out and was surprised to hear above everything, a wet _thwack_ instantly followed by a metallic _whang_. The Ghost fell without a sound, not even moving to grab the rope.

"These are fucking bullet magnets-" She growled as the next ghost dutifully leaped onto the fastrope. Her platoon was on the ground already dispersing to bits of cover by squads and fireteams, trading fire with the Russians who were dug in and slowly being rooted out by grenades.

Goff was the sixteenth one out, which was the standard procedure. A courageous leader might have been the first one in and the last one out, but the smart leader stayed alive. The men needed her just as much as she needed them for this fight. The rope burned slightly through the gloves like they always did and a round snapped by her helmet. Her HUD immediately began linking with the Ghost's on the ground who had taken cover around the wrecked Valkyrie and were pulling men from it. There weren't many of them intact that Goff could see. She couldn't tear her eyes off one of them who was frantically pumping the chest of a man without realizing everything from the waist down was completely missing.

"Sir!" something slapped her helmet and she looked up at a sergeant. "What now?" the man shouted into the boom mike.

"Secure the landing site before we move!" Goff said quickly as she looked around. This site had been chosen poorly, it was in a ditch surrounded on three sides by walls and backed by the burning hulk of a frigate. The lanes were wide enough for tanks to drive through but the grenades and explosions had scattered what light cover there was leaving only a few solid places for her men to shelter behind while the Russians rained fire down on them. The enemy had superior flanking positions that ringed the Landing zone and were distributing their fire between the Joint Strike Force infantry and the circling VTOLS which would succeed at keeping their heads down but often not much else. They needed something-

A rocket wailed, spiraling just short of the Valkyrie it had been aimed at and slammed into the frigate's hull, cutting a jagged hole in its aft. That prompted Goff to quickly sprint and slide into the nearest piece of cover. She poked her head out from behind a couple plates of sheet metal while she tried to scan for a decent breakout point. The Sergeant and his ten man squad dispersed themselves trading fire with the Russians. There were two platoons of Riflemen pinned down at the landing zone and the other Valkyries circled uselessly above, their pilots unwilling to deploy their troops without a relatively safe spot.

Goff wouldn't' be getting reinforcements unless she could open the enemy lines up _fast_. She thought of something and prayed it would work as she gave the order. "_Platoon! Spread covering fire, marksman concentrate fire at ten o'clock!_"

The ghost's reacted as ordered, spraying fire left and right while their marksman snapped their sniper rifles together and took aim at the squad at ten o'clock. Clean shots took them out in rapid sequence.

"Marksman shift fire to twelve o'clock!" Goff didn't shout any longer. One of the VTOL's idled above them and began spraying grenades left and right, perhaps the pilot understood what Goff was trying to do- shorten the enemy out in groups at a time. It was working, the Ghost's shifted their fire to confuse the enemy so they didn't realize their men were being picked off by precise fire. But the Russians caught on quickly and after another ten minutes, they disengaged.

"Ninja form up and advance! Take the right lane!" She leaped out from behind her cover and gestured for her troops to follow her in the uphill jog that would take them to their first target. She keyed her boom mike one last time, sending it straight to Colonel Beasely in his command vehicle.

"First beachhead is secure colonel, you can begin deploying units into the battlespace. Storm breaker is go, say again Storm Breaker is _go_."

* * *

><p>0045 – North of Kongwon Bo mountain range.<p>

The first noise of real trouble that night was when Witt heard a volley of bullets ring out and spark as they scathed the nearby steel just behind Witt. Witt pulled his head out of the window and hissed beneath his breath. He'd been completely cloaked when he had taken that peek. Someone on the ground must have had thermal imaging systems which could penetrate the cloak's stealth. This wasn't good.

"They can see right through us." Witt reported back to the other two.

"The Russians aren't stupid." Long shrugged from the middle of their formation, Park wanted to keep an eye on the man who had deserted and shot up an entire town with his sniper rifle. "And they have a pretty advanced army-"

An explosion echoed up through the stairwell followed by the sound of voices. Russian. From the outside, smoke was wafting in through the windows and soon Witt had to flip to thermal imaging as well which was great for picking out targets but the fisheye lenses made depth perception nearly impossible.

"take them out hand to hand?" Long suggested as the sounds of boots on the stairs reached their ears.

"You first by all means." Park growled with a poke of his rifle. Long shrugged and shouldered the Intervention, and crept down the stairs. Like a true Ghost, Long was completely invisible and moved silently, being careful to roll his weight with each step as he had been taught. Witt was experienced as well and from here, he could observe Long completely. This man had probably been a jungle fighter at one point in his life, there weren't many even in the Ghosts that moved with as much precision and experience as he. The Russians thundered up the steps, sweeping the area with the rifles as they did.

It took only a glance for Witt to see none of them were wearing thermal goggles or HUD and so instinctively they all froze. The cloak usually gave a telltale shimmer, like air off a heat duct, but standing still they literally were invisible especially in the low lighting and smoke-

When they reached the flight of steps Long was on, Long launched himself forward throwing his entire weight up to knock the raised rifle out of line before whipping his tomahawk out of the belt. It took the point man completely off guard and Witt who was ready for that, had his rifle raised and aimed just as Long exited the line of fire and Witt fired two double taps at the upcoming fireteam.

There were only 3 of them left standing. Park put a burst through the last ones chest who was just rounding the corner. The suppressed weaponry made no noise that could be heard above the Russian's yelling but that didn't stop the remaining two from firing shots that shaved dangerously close to Witt and Park.

Long was amongst them immediately, catching one on the side of the head with his tomahawk blade while the second was dispatched with a silenced pistol to the eyes. If Witt hadn't had his HUD activated, it would have looked as though there were a pistol and tomahawk hovering midair.

"Good work." Witt said as Long destealthed to recharge the battery and wiped the tomahawk blade against one of the Russians to clean it.

"Feels good." Long said without any compassion and suddenly slammed the blade down into one of the bodies. "Twitcher."

"Let's go." Witt said. Long lead the way down, keeping the pistol hidden beneath his cloak, the Russians were busy clearning the tower floor by floor and the process downstairs was a slow and painful one. While they didn't meet any more teams going up, Witt spotted a squad taking a breather on the second floor. And these ones had thermal goggles.

"we could try slipping past them." Park whispered. "Like the old times, you know when Ghosts didn't have these cloaks."

"It'll be tough." Witt muttered. The ten soldiers had taken their rest right where the second floor door met the stairwell and it was also very crowded. One of the soldiers cocked his head and lowered his thermal goggles-and looked right at Witt.

"Shit." Witt thumbed the selector to fully automatic fire and squeezed the trigger.


	35. Chapter 34

0100 – Vladivostock

It was the third time that morning the Russians had demanded Blanco's surrender. For the second time, Blanco felt like giving in. She was a rat trapped in a shoebox and there were angry terriers waiting for her outside. She was down to three shots with her .22 , a few combat knives she had picked from the Russians and her own martial arts training and whatever ingenuity she could muster which wasn't much. She'd expended all the tricks in her playbook and the Russians had learned. They'd cut her access from the outside and jammed all transmissions, radio or cell. They were careful to send teams in to cover men who dragged out corpses and their weapons and ammunition. It seemed to be getting cramped her too. Blanco tried to move around and change her positioning but slowly and surely the Russians were locking down the uplink center.

She shifted uncomfortably under the corpse of two Russian soldiers. They were regular army, the unit patch said so. Probably straight from boot or something. They had families, maybe even girlfriends. And here they were covering Blanco's torso to help her camouflage among the other dead on the ground. Were there four of them in this hallway alone? How many men had she killed? How many more would die by sunrise?

Bootsteps echoed down the hallway, a group of five men with rifles raised came down slowly carefully. Blanco froze and even slowed down her breathing so that her chest didn't rise and her heart didn't flutter. The men soldiers stepped forward, careful to keep their rifles trained at the different nooks and crannies Blanco had popped out of before. They might look down for traps but that was it. They probably weren't expecting Blanco to be hiding under a corpse. She counted six beats of her quickened heart and felt the vibration that told her the point man had stepped over the corpse. She kicked her leg up immediately catching the second in the groin.

The corpses were positioned in such a way that Blanco easily freed herself and was in an upright position before the others could react, there were knives in both her hands. She came up slashing, cutting the second man's throat and flicking the blade almost lazily so that it flashed into the third man's eye. She'd never thrown a knife before and was aiming at the neck but it was so close that she couldn't possibly miss. When she turned to deal with the point man she slipped as she pivoted and fell. A burst of gunfire sailed overhead and caught the point man in the shoulder causing him (no it was a woman!) to cry out. Blanco scrambled for her sidearm and fired all three shots into the third soldier. The fourth one wasn't thinking correctly.

With a roar he charged forward and blocked a clear shot from his squadmate who shouted "no!" At the last second, the shout registered and the soldier backed off for half the second Blanco needed to get back on her feet and throw herself forward, jabbing the knife into the man's belly as fast as she could. The Soldier's mouth was open and he spat blood in Blanco's eye as he was pushed back. Blanco gave him a nudge after the sixth stab and gave him a vicious slash to the throat which sent him spinning to the right-giving the final trooper a clear shot.

_Clack._

There was no way that could have happened. Kalashnikovs were known for their ability to fire even under the most adverse conditions. Yet here, in an army base where the weapons were properly maintained, this one had jammed. Blanco closed the distance and knocked the rifle out of the way.

This soldier was also a woman. She didn't let the rifle go quickly, she swung the butt around prompting Blanco to raise her arm to deflect it but she was weak and the butt was a heavy plastic that crashed into her left arm. Blanco gasped, half blinded by the blood in her left eye. She swung wildly with her right knife but the soldier leaped back out of range.

"Come and get me American." The woman screeched. She unsheathed her own knife and took a stance. Blanco brushed her elbow against her left eye and took her own stance- the Russian darted forward, knife stabbing low but withdrew in a feint that caught Blanco flatfooted and the woman scored a slash that went all the way from Blanco's left wrist to her elbow.

However, Blanco was inside the woman's range and her own knife came up under the woman's ribs-but was deflected by her body armor. Blanco couldn't lose momentum, she threw her head forward to strike the woman's chin with her goggles and keep her off balance. She felt the knife slash across her back as they both fell to the ground.

Blanco brought her left elbow down to pin the woman's arm in place as she slashed with her knife sideways but the soldier turned her face impossibly quick so that the tip only grazed her cheek. Her leg flicked up knocking Blanco forward banging her head against the wall, the woman broke her arm free and stabbed Blanco in the side.

There was just pain; pain that swelled from Blancos left and she dropped the knife as she felt the blade slide between her ribs and twist out, the serrated edge tearing an even bigger gap. Blanco cried out and suddenly lacked the energy to do anything more than hold her aching side. The soldier pushed Blanco off her so that now Blanco was lying on her back. The soldier stood up and wiped blood that was oozing from her right cheek. She didn't smile and Blanco felt tears well up then her vision became blurred.

The woman knelt over Blanco and wiped her tears for her. Her eyes were a harsh grey. Blanco spat in her eyes, buying her the second she needed to sweep the soldier's legs out from under her and bang her knife hand against the wall which disarmed the opponent. The knife found its way into Blanco's hand in a second and then into the woman's neck.

That was it. Blanco collapsed onto the floor letting the pain eat at her for just a few moments of blessed relief. She couldn't keep it up after this. She just couldn't. But she had to get out alive. She crawled her way over to the woman soldier and began her work as quickly as her aching side allowed…

* * *

><p>0110 – Kamatchka combat space<p>

"_Watch your right Striker Lead!_" the AWACS threat director snapped in Pierreras ear. "Two SAMS coming right for you-"

Pierrera hauled the stick upward and at the apex of his climb cut his throttle to put the F-19 into a stall. The fighter plummeted six meters like a rock-and the twin missiles overshot him from the right and looped left to try to reaquire his thermal signature. Pierrera threw his throttle wide and hit the afterburners.

He wasn't nervous anymore, the shakes had completely left him, replacing it with just a calm demeanour like smoke on ice. He nosed the Bobcat down to level him out for just a second as a line of tracers licked out from the ground at him making him throw the nimble fighter into a snaproll. He dove for the deck again on another interference run at Mach 1.5 firing chaff and flares all the way past to interfere with the anti air batteries aim. The dockyards here were a maze of cranes and buildings that jutted out at uneven intervals and were dotted by tracer fire, muzzle flash and fires of ruptured oil stores and burning ships. Pierrera's HUD was having problems discerning the difference between legitimate targets and the fires that burned at the ground level. He took a moment to slow down and look down where the battle raged. So much fire was going on down there, was it really just infantry at the moment? The armor hadn't even begun to land yet. There were only platoon sized units fighting each other yet the battle spanned over a two kilometer line. Pierrera activated his lookdown radar for just a second and his HUD immediately squawked ground targets for him.

"Incoming tanks from the north!" Pierrera called into the com. "Make them battalion strength…"

"_Storm Breaker is go, Storm Breaker is go, objective targets ID'd on radar. First wave entering the battlespace, Lacrosse and Pack Mule squadrons have reported touchdown and disembark."_ A radio officer said calmly inside the command vehicle. Matt Beasely's face was illuminated in a blue glow by the tactical hologram that was connected to the BLUE FORCE tracker which allowed him to see every single unit he had deployed. He touched the hologram and zoomed out the image to allow him to see the entire zone. 3rd platoon was closest to its first objective, "Wolfman" was lead by Captain Bush who had been a part of Ghost Recon for four years and had a reputation for thinking on the fly and an aggressive streak which would get him places. Taking the center were first and second platoons, "Banshee" and "Creeper" and were bogged down by rifle fire but were slowly overwhelming their opponents. "Ninja" however was caught in a running battle in the alleyways. Goff was new but her tactical skill showed her to be sharp. They were obviously outnumbered, with at least two platoons of Russian troops formed up and flanking Goff from both sides. She had dispersed fourth platoon into fire teams and had them melt into the buildings, letting the fist separate into fingers each capable of pursuing its own way to victory.

However if they didn't get help, they would take many casualties. Already the landing troops had taken serious dead and wounded, the combat engineers were preparing the beachhead for more troops. Warlord had touched down only a few minutes ago.

"Pack Mule, move to Ninja and give them support. Lacrosse get up to Banshee and blast a hole. They'll be following you in."

Both squadron leaders acknowledged the order, the tanks of Lacrosse rolled down the center while the Fastback IFVS of Pack Mule swung right toward Ninja. The first elements of the second wave began touching down now, three more platoons of riflemen and engineers in addition to two squadrons of gunships which he ordered on perimeter flyovers. The Blackfoots would be used to offer rapid reaction support to any line that needed strengthening.

"_Check north quadrant, eyes on T-100 ogre tanks, make them battalion strength."_ The radio officer in communication with the overhead AWACS called from his station. Beasely pulled the display over so that he could catch the leading platoon enter the battle zone in perfect formation. They came down the wide roads in two tank columns.

"I want air strikes on those tanks now, take them out. Roll in strike package Alpha." He tapped the leading tanks twice to flash them on the AWACS blue force tracker to ensure the targets were accurately received.

"_Enemy aircraft entering the battlespace, multiple fighters in regiment strength!"_

The Americans had struck the bee hive and the swarm was rushing to protect their home.


	36. Chapter 35

0110 – North of Kongwon Bo mountain range

Witt and his team had a split second head start on the Russians and that was all they needed to riddle six of them with bullets. The other four whirled behind the walls and out of the lines of fire.

"Go just go!" Witt shouted and shoved Long forward as he trained his rifle on the door. They'd have to get out quietly if they wanted-

A burst of automatic fire told Witt that the Russians had the same idea. That burst of gunfire would alert everyone downstairs. He pulled the pin on his last stun grenade and tossed it into the doorway to discourage chasers. The three ghosts sprinted as quickly as they could down the stairs. Long rounded the corner and snapped his rifle up and was immediately rebuked by a volley of shots.

"Shit." Long said and poked his head out for an instant. "Full platoon downstairs."

"And maybe another up." Park muttered as he heard boots overhead. "What do we do?"

"Head upstairs, maybe we can rappel from the second floor." Witt said. "It's a long shot but we have to try."

"Sounds just as bad. They'll be waiting for us." Park said. "And we can still get sandwiched."

"Not if I hold them off." Long said. "I still have my grenades. And you guys wouldn't be here unless it were for me."

"What are you saying?" Witt shoved him.

"You better move. We have a second. I'm not accepting any arguments." Long shoved Witt back. "Go. Sir."

"You've never called me sir before."

"_Move_." Long said as he pulled a grenade from his vest and flicked it around the corner. There was a shout in Russian followed by the crump of an explosion. Park moved upward first, Witt followed and looked back for a second to see Long drawing a C4 cube and detonator from his belt and unhooking his sniper rifle. He removed the scope last.

Park charged up the stairs smashing his rifle stock into the first Russian that was coming down and knocked him into the wall to be finished off by a three round burst by Witt. Witt took the second Russian with another burst, then unloaded his magazine into the rest of the squad that was funneling down the stairs. Park and Witt sprinted the rest of the way up the stairs amid the noise of the Intervention booming from the floor below.

Witt rolled into the doorway of the long hall, a burst of gunfire just skinning his knees as he did so. He didn't know what made him roll like that; it wasn't part of his training but it obviously had done some good. He tracked his rifle rapidly to the right and put a burst into the Russians chest. Park entered a moment later and snapped his rifle to the left.

"Clear left!"

"Clear right." Witt responded.

"Windows there." Park said and gestured to the doorway of the nearest room. The two of them stacked on the door, Park kicked it in and Witt swooped in, hunting for threats. There was nothing. Outside they could hear bursts of gunfire and the thunderclap of a tank gun shooting close by. It was so loud in fact that the windows actually shattered from the shockwave. Witt felt it reverberate on his face. He walked over to the window and poked his head out; the little town was a scene of carnage. Russian soldiers ran from building to building and traded fire with Chinese infantry. APCs with what looked like were Anti aircraft guns prowled the streets at slow paces, careful to riddle any house that the Russians pointed at with a hailstorm of rounds.

"Shit."

"Take it slow." Park suggested and Witt nodded. He unhooked his rapelling line and strapped it to the edge of the window-

"Tank on the road!"

It hadn't been there in the six seconds it took for Witt to secure the line but now there it was rumbling down. Its turret was facing towards them and Witt was sure that it had some sort of thermal sight. It could see the two ghost's _perfectly_.

"_Jump!"_ Park shouted and in that second the fact that Park wasn't even Witt's superior failed to register. All Witt knew was that someone had given him a suggestion that sounded like an order and now his body was moving. Witt leaped out the window, his rifle cast to the side as time diluted itself. He could see everything as though it were caught in water, the entire town's movements were sluggish, below him a team of Russian soldiers had their weapons point up but they didn't fire. He caught the tail end of expanding air and heat that washed over his body as a 150mm smoothbore round lanced below him, pushing him just slightly higher up as it did so. Then he heard the explosion and crash of concrete and wood behind him the instant Park's vital signs flatlined.

Time resumed its normal pace then and Witt felt a sharp tug on his waist as the secured rope went taut and then snapped when the tank round hit and Witt continued to sail forward and eventually hit the road, seeing nothing but black and feeling the heat ebb away…

* * *

><p>1210 – Washington D.C.<p>

"My God look at that!" Dominique said and pointed toward the mass of red enemies that had just entered the battle space. "They have so many aircraft!"

"Russians aren't weak." Becerra muttered and put another spoonful of the delicious macaroni into his mouth. A number of US aircraft idling higher than the other aircraft turned toward the mass of enemy fighters. More movement caught his eye. "They have tanks too."

"How many of them are there?" Dominique asked as her eyes widened.

"Each tank stands for a four vehicle squadron I think." Becerra eyed the two and half dozen tanks that were moving alarmingly quickly toward his men. It was funny, the higher people got in the military, the more distant they became and also the more controlling they wanted to be over the battle. Becerra was Commander In Chief of all military operations and yet here he was, forced to sit on the sidelines and watch his boys and girls die like gnats under a blowtorch. A blue fighter dove low towards the tanks and released bombs, showering the tank holograms in fake explosions that the hologram took time to pause before showing that the bombs had destroyed two squadrons. It wasn't nearly enough.

"Can't you do something honey?" Domionique shook her head.

"Not from here. The boys there have a much better picture of what's going on than we do." Becerra stroked his goatee and frowned. It wasn't easy just watching this. That infantry unit on the right flank had alarmingly disappeared but the hologram still showed that there were Russian units shooting there and there was an APC squadron rolling towards them at a rapid pace.

"Do you want more Macaroni?" Dominique said as she got up to get herself some more.

"No thank you."

* * *

><p>0110 – Kamatchka combat space<p>

Goff put another two second burst of rifle fire through the window provoking a cry from the Russian she hit in the shoulder. This was a dicey situation; her platoon was split into fire teams, spread among the two streets by about three blocks in length. She ducked back behind the crates of machinery equipment to reload as a Pioneer to her left pulled out his Zeus rocket launcher and one through the support beam of the watchtower down the way, toppling it on top of the sandbagged machine gun below.

Goff flicked her eyes left and right to check on the position of enemy tangos and selected one for her target. The advanced HUD that was now regular use in US military forces allowed her individual troops better target identification and situational awareness. True, it took a month or so to actually get used to all the blinking lights in the middle of combat where red and green tracers crisscrossed and melted with explosions, dirt and smoke that were tossed in as well but that was why they were the Joint Strike Force. They were the best.

Goff popped up and took her shots, placing a six round burst down range and forcing her target back under cover of his crates which sparked with something metal when it struck. Her FMJ armor piercing rounds wouldn't do much good penetrating that. The angle of the machinery inside was sharp and would deflect incoming rounds to the sides. Ricochets could be lethal but it wouldn't drop her target. She ducked back down as a round snapped to her left.

"Squads sound off!" she shouted into the crosscom.

"_Second squad's up!"_

"_Third's squad's pinned, but we're up! Taking fire from all sides sir!"_

"_Fourth squad's up! Gimme your position, Daniels, I'll loop around to you-"_

"Second Squad what's your situation?" Goff heard the wet _thwack_ of a round hitting the ghost next to her. She snapped her head over and saw him gritting his teeth and holding his shoulder.

"I'm up." He nodded.

"_Sir! Enemy is pulling back here, I'm regrouping second fire team to me."_

"Get over to me as quick as you can." Goff ordered and touched the side of her helmet to mark a GPS nav point that would show up on the sergeants HUD. "Take the left flank and circle the building. Breach and clear sergeant!"

"_Understood sir."_

"Okay!" Goff called to her own squad on their channel. "Second squad is going to swing around to the left and enter the building from there. We're going to lay down some covering fire so they can control the building, understood?"

"Yes _sir!_" her men shouted back.

"We own the night!" Goff tossed her spent magazine and loaded a fresh one. She was down to maybe four now. She'd lost track. "Covering _fire!_"

She popped up and put precise three round bursts into every window she could see. Some had targets, some didn't. Goff didn't care, her HUD couldn't always be right. It was only a few seconds before she had to reload-

"RPG!" she made the mistake and poked her head back up just as the rocket tore the air above and exploded behind her, tossing her onto the flat street without any cover, or a weapon. Goff couldn't hear anything, just the garbled chatter of the crosscom that didn't seem any louder than the muffled sounds of gunfire. She felt hands on her body and she was turned over, somebody was pressing against her chest. She pushed a hand aside.

"No sexual deviances today trooper." She gasped at the woman medic who was trying to find the wound. "I'm fine."

There was a ripping sound not unlike rifle fire but the note was deeper. Bigger rounds were coming into play. She turned and saw four Fastback IFVs rumble down the road, spraying rounds into the upper floor of the building. Goff began to mouth her orders but saw that her second in command had already taken the initiative, her Ghosts were sprinting up to the side of the building while the Fastbacks laid cover fire.

"_Roll in breach. Go!"_

One of the Fastbacks revved its engines up and smashed into the side of the building, creating a sizeable hole. It backtracked rapidly and Goff's ninjas piled through the hole shouting.

Goff lay her head back and saw the medic look over her. Her hearing faded away and the medic mouthed something and then Goff was swimming in blackness…


	37. Chapter 36

0130 – Kamatchka combat space

The Americans were everywhere at once it seemed. On the Russian commanders tactical hologram American lightly armored units danced back and forth dodging playfully out of range of his T-100 Ogre Main Battle Tanks but still able to launch volleys of missiles which were no more than a discomfort to them but were still rather bothersome. Their gunships patrolled the battle line picking off his riflemen whenever they were unfortunate enough to be spotted and the enemy infantry swarmed across the naval base, some making for the satellite Uplink centers, others for the submarine docks on the outside. Those were well armored and their bunker busting bombs couldn't penetrate through them but a few of the subs had made the mistake of trying to cast off and were subsequently hit with laser guided weapons. His troops needed some sort of support, his Zhukov self propelled howitzers were being delayed by traffic on the road. Damn that American air power.

"Do we have air superiority?" He asked the air force lieutenant who was acting as the branches' liaison.

"Not yet. Our fighters are just beginning to enter the space but the Americans have many stealth fighters and our comrades are reporting it is difficult to vector our craft against them."

"We have stealth fighters too don't we?"

Pierrera dove his fighter low, hazardously between the wide alleys that were made for half built ships to easily be moved through but the only things that remained in this channel were burnt hulks. The Air force had done its first job it looked like. He flicked his eyes upward just for a second to spot a pair of orange burns in the hazy night. They weren't showing up on his HUD as targets, they were just motes of cinders that had been rising with the smoke- a pair of missiles flashed from the burns. That certainly wasn't a cinder!

Pierrera hauled hard on the stick and the nimble F-19 looped upward to bring himself on the tail of the two Russian fighters that had just entered the fray. He had two Joint strike munitions left and he locked them both onto the one on the right. The fighter immediately pulled up and hit the brakes, forcing Pierrera to duck the Bobcat below the mass that was suddenly bearing towards him. This pilot was good. Pierrera looped left eyes chasing for his wingmate which had suddenly disappeared-

"_Striker Lead, break right no-"_

Pierrera threw the stick right and heaved again as a line of tracers streaked past the left side of his bobcat.

"Who's that?" Pierrera gritted his teeth through the 8 G turn.

"_Rogue lead here. I got him-_"

His HUD splashed a friendly diamond around the F-22 Raptor which swooped in from above, its 20 milimeter Vulcan cannon blazing. There was a bright flash and Rogue Leader hooted over the channel.

"_Hunting is good today Striker lead. Watch it though, I can't spot the other one_."

"There! Coming up on your four o'clock low!" Pierrera turned again to put himself on a high angle deflection shot on the black painted Russian fighter. He lined up the sight but for the half a second he had the shot, he hesitated-the fighter looked too much like the F-22 how could he be certain-Pierrera's hesitation forced the fighter into a direction change throwing him off Rogue Leader's back. It was like Top Gun training all over again. This was where the Navy had learned how to dogfight in a world where dogfighting seemed to be obsolete with missiles that could lock and shoot over the horizon. Here it was down and dirty, using guns like in WWI. It was a knife fight in aerial terms and therefore very deadly.

Pierrera glanced at his fuel status and registered just how much fuel the rapid maneuvers were eating up. He'd be bingo in a few seconds at this rate. The Russian, only visible by his afterburner dove low hugging the ground and trying to blend in with the fires below. Pierrera lost him.

"Can't see him." Pierrera said. "and I'm bingo fuel."

"_Shit, I'm Winchester."_ Rogue leader reported that he was completely out of ammunition.

"We'll walk each other out then." Pierrera tugged the stick to the left to turn him south and he punched the throttle as he dove to pick up speed which would help his fuel efficiency. Behind him Rogue leader was doing the same. The Raptor idled up alongside him and matched speed.

"What was that?" Pierrera asked.

"_Russian stealth fighter. They have another name for it but we call it the Mig-50 Thunderclap"_ Rogue Leader said. _"Never thought I'd actually get to kill one of those-"_

"You're a triple ace!" Pierrera looked and counted all the flags painted on the side of Rogue Leader's fighter.

"_That's right and I didn't become one because I stayed around with low fuel and no ammo." _Rogue Leader's voice came back hard. "_I just hope our boys can handle themselves down there. A lot of birds are pulling back now."_

"Colonel our air units are bingo and they'll have to withdraw to retank." A lieutenant reported from his chair. Beasely scowled at that. He needed to keep the pressure up on those Russian units, or his own troops would be massacred! He had no mobile SAMs or anti-aircraft weapons that could reach out and swat their fighters. Against an air threat they were completely reliant on Joint Strike Force fighters.

"When's the next wave of air superiority fighters coming?"

"ten minutes sir." The lieutenant said.

"Sir, Warhawk, Bison and Pigskin have just touched down." The lieutenant monitoring the landing process said. 3 squadrons of Schwarzkopf tanks had been completely deployed. The Goshawks kicked off their rotors and zipped back out of the zone to refuel. There was a problem with an attack such as this, it was essentially a suicide attack. The only real units that could retreat was probably his infantry. The tanks could never be loaded up so quickly, even though the Goshawk had been designed for just that.

"Set them to group three." Beasely said and tapped all three of their holographic images and tapped their destination point – to the beleaguered Ninja platoon which was still moving two slowly. Hopefully those three tanks would be able to speed up their progress.

"_Wolfman here, we're securing the uplink now._" Beasely looked above at the screen to see the lieutenant's helmet camera bobbing as his Ghosts forced their way into the dome shaped satellite uplink center and cuffed the surrendering Russians inside. It took a quick moment for their computer personel to begin cutting into the system to withdraw the Russian combat information, enemy positions, GPS, anything useful. After that was completed they would knock out the satellite permanently with a few quick key commands.

"Good job Captain." Beasely nodded more to himself than the him. He checked the progress of his center line. They were forming a perimeter with good cover on the high ground while the Ghosts moved toward their target building, a big concrete structure that served as the back up fuel storage facilities. They were well protected from air strikes, as the scores of black and spent bomb casings had shown. "Banshee, Creeper, how are we doing?"

"_Limping but alive Colonel! Two and a half squads and the rest have been medevaced."_ Banshee responded first, there was an edge on his voice and he was panting. His troops were getting tired from all of this running. Understandably so but this isn't what Beasely needed right now_. "Shouldn't be long now till our objective is destroyed!"_

"_Colonel, I have three squads upright, I'm forming a second perimeter while Banshee lays the charges." _The captain in charge of Creeper reported over the crackle of gunfire. On the tactical plot the enemy had activated their passive defenses, machine guns connected to thermal and motion sensors. They weren't terribly accurate but were enough to slow his troops down significantly. The two platoons of riflemen split like an opening hand, widening the line so that the turrets on each of the four corners would have too many targets to engage and they were picked off one by one. Banshee's remaining troops forced an entry after blasting the door open.

"Python, Cobra and Adder are engaging now!" a rating shouted and Beasely shifted the hologram to show his 3 gunship squadrons raking the oncoming tank columns with Hellfire missiles. The Ogres defended themselves by throwing up chaff, but the Hellfire was a laser guided weapon and so the foil didn't matter. The leading 8 tanks went up in balls of flame as the followers attempted to spread themselves out, the tanks moved aside to let their light armored vehicles through, the ones with flak turrets on top-

Python had overextended itself and reacted too slowly, two of the Blackfoot helicopters were riddled with cannon fire before they could react and both spun out and crashed.

"We're directing medevac now-" someone called and the little lights representing the tiny Kiowa helicopters darted towards the two crashed helicopters. Beasely's gunship squadrons backtracked rapidly, firing another volley of hellfire missiles as they did so and scoring hits on six vehicles. It would block the road for at least a couple minutes. Beasely hoped it was enough. Another officer called but this time Beasely already could see the four squadrons of Ka-65 Howler heavy gunships swooping in from the north, Mi-55 Locust transports in hot pursuit.

"Get Caboose up there now." Beasely stabbed the enemy helicopter squadrons with his finger. His IFVs were equipped with rail guns and fast rotating turrets. Perfect for shooting down enemy helicopters at close range. The squadron detatched itself from its perimeter and streaked down the road while Beasely's 3 gunship squadrons engaged their opponents in a wild melee of cannon fire and air to air missiles. A flash of movement on the screen caught Beasely's eye- a Howler was spinning out, fire belched from its twin rotors tracer fire streamed from the camera's point of view as it rapidly closed the distance and burst into static. One of his gunships had just rammed an enemy helicopter. Had it already been shot or was the pilot behaving irrationally? Beasely didn't have the time to find out. He and his men needed breathing space and there wasn't enough of that to go around.

* * *

><p>0120 – North of Kongwon Bo mountain range<p>

Witt blinked; at least he tried to, the pebbles got in his way and folded up into his eyelids causing his forehead to split in pain. He closed his eyes and brushed the offenders away. He could hear the chatter of gunfire now; muffled as though he were listening to it through several inches of glass. He could feel the heat of flickering fire, feel the vibrations of an explosion. Witt tried to sit up but found that he could barely move. Had he broken his spine upon falling? He didn't think so, his legs and arms hurt like fuck. His vision blurred as he finally opened his eyes and he saw a blurry outline jogging towards him. The voice chattered something harsh.

Witt still couldn't focus on him, but then heard a slapping noise and felt something wet splatter across his cheek. Something fell on top of him. Another voice boomed through the noise, this time it was so loud that Witt grimaced and doubled over. He felt a hand grab him and lift him up and suddenly Witt was limping and leaning heavily on someone. The noise became clearer and the feelings sharper. His vision became more focused, he could see the helmeted form of a Ghost to his right, this was the person he was leaning on. Who was he? Sullivan that was it. But there were other figures running behind him around him as though Sullivan and Witt were – what was the term? – swimming upstream.

He could hear Korean voices and Sullivan shouting things that were so unbearably loud that Witt cried out again.

"Fuck. You'll be okay sir. Just hang on!" Sullivan said. "Hey get me a _medic_!"

His vision became more focused, he was on the edge of the town now, leading into the forest which was _alive_ with running men and women. Rifles chattered and the rebels shouted. Witt realized that they were defending their home. For the first time acting completely without direction from the Ghosts. _Juche_ had returned to them. Sullivan lay Witt down on the dirt while he patted his cheek and chest.

"Fuck where are you hurt Sir?" Sullivan shouted. Witt mumbled something. "What? _MEDIC! GET ME A FUCKING MEDIC!"_

"P-Park-"

"He's dead sir. Nothing I can do!" Sullivan patted his chest again. "Where's that _GODDAMN MEDIC?"_

Someone rushed over and slapped something on Witts chest making him gasp aloud.

"Fuck off! Don't do that! Do you speak English? Find out what's wrong with him!"

"L-long-"

"I don't know sir!" Sullivan said as another set of hands pulled off his vest. "I don't know where he is, he isn't showing up on my HUD, none of you are! He's as good as dead now sir!"

"No." Witt whispered as the darkness closed in on him. He didn't know what made him say that, only that he was sure that he was telling the truth.


	38. Chapter 37

0140 – Kamatchka combat space

Beaseley's frontline was in trouble. The air support that had withdrawn was seriously hampering his ability to fight. His tanks were in good defensive positions and holding their perimeter quite well. However there were very many Russian tanks and his gunship and IFV squadrons were immediately behind his forward tank perimeter. On both sides, gunships darted back and forth, trying to goad the other to commit to combat. The Mi-55 Locust transports had begun deploying their infantry troops which Beasely knew to be Spetsnaz trained riflemen or heavy weapons specialists.

"How are the other areas holding out?" He released his concentration from the battle for just a moment.

"Sir, all companies are reporting complete surprise at other combat AO's and are pulling back as ordered." The radio officer in contact with the other elements of the strike said. Those other hits were just simultaneous raids to neutralize the enemy's submarine force. The real prize was here, at the Russian's intact satellite uplink facility and naval base. Unfortunately the garrison Russian force hadn't taken the bait and spread their troops out like Beasely hoped they would. They were concentrating here, knowing exactly what was at stake. Nobody said the Russians were stupid.

His left flank and the rifle platoon there had succeeded in snatching the Uplink and a Valkyrie was deploying Rottweiler combat drones to protect it. His right flank was still chugging along, apparently Captain Goff had been incapacitated and her XO, although quick to take up the unexpected responsibility, was slow to improvise and hesitant. Not that Beasely could exactly blame them, the path to their target was riddled with a maze of alleyways and sidestreets that made for several perfect ambush points. The three rifle platoons on that side were undergoing vicious street battles where snipers would take potshots and then vanish into the night. The fastbacks sent to reinforce were helping some but they were mainly being used to ferry the wounded.

"_Banshee here, building is clear. We're setting charges."_

"_Banshee, Creeper, contact with multiple foot mobiles, about three platoons-hard contact! Hard contact!_"

Beasely whirled around to the tactical hologram and shifted over to where Creeper was trading fire with three platoons of enemy infantry who had snuck around the armored perimeter up front. They must have been Spetsnaz troops, Beasely surmised. Regular army couldn't pull something off like that.

Creeper's position in the four story concrete structure gave them a good field of vision and their Ghost riflemen fired from within with deadly accuracy. The Spetsnaz, caught in the open, double timed it to the nearest pieces of cover, stopping only to snap badly aimed shots at the Ghosts who had the luxury of aiming and dropping their targets. They would be overwhelmed shortly though at the rate those three Wolf platoons were moving forward.

"Python, move to Creeper. Give them some covering fire." Beasely ordered into his microphone, and the pair of gunships pulled off from their forward positions and doubled back toward the infantry where they engaged the Russians with 20 milimeter cannon rounds.

"Enemy has air strikes in bound!" One of the radio officers called. "AWACs are counting multiple Mig-47 Slamhounds entering the battlespace-"

It wasn't just them, he could see from the display. Four Slamhounds ducked low, flying between the streets for cover as another four Fulcrums above them fired a volley of missiles at Beasely's forward helicopters. The angular profile of Blackfoot gunships helped reduce return radar emissions, but the Fuclrums fired heat seakers at very close range, only six miles away. Beasely could only watch as his gunships dropped flares wildly and began evasive turns, but the missiles closed the distance too quickly, exploding amongst them and dropping three out of the eight choppers.

"Shit!" Beasely hissed as the Russian gunships howled forward firing their own missiles and taking advantage of the Gunships which were put on the back foot. He couldn't do it. His frontline was going to collapse at this rate-

"Tell the frontline units to fall back." Beasely said and tapped the tanks and IFVs to indicate the orders and marked a NAV point further back where the buildings would be more of an advantage to them. He needed more troops, otherwise the Russians would be in control of Kamatchka again and the US would lose its foothold in the East. Everything hinged on these moments now. Beasely couldn't make a mistake.

* * *

><p>1310- Washington DC<p>

"No." Becerra mumbled into his hand and goatee as the Joint Strike Force units began to fall back, laying down smoke screens to cover their retreat. Someone had fucked up here. The Russians had too many troops in this area and the Joint Strike Force was just too spread out.

No. Becerra was the one who had fucked up. He made the call to go in. He approved all of this and now here he was eating lunch while he watched his boys and girls die in a country they barely knew.

"I'm done." Becerra shoved the half empty plate of macaroni away. He really should have been in the situation room doing this, with all of his advisors so that they could comment on everything but no. His stomach came before the men and women out there. _They_ were the ones suffering so that he could eat this _comfort food_. It was no comfort now. Becerra felt nauseas. Dominique squeezed his hand.

"Honey." She whispered.

"I need an Advil." Becerra mumbled but his eyes didn't leave the tactical display.

"I'll get it." She kissed his neck and got up, leaving Becerra alone.

It was a bliss that Becerra didn't actually have an audio connection with the battle like he would have in the Situation room, it would have killed him to hear boys, eighteen or nineteen years old – many of them virgins despite their boastings – to scream as bullets tore into them, not caring whether they had parents or children. He saw the front line units get strafed by a pair of fighters, one of the IFV squadrons winked out and was replaced by the Infantry symbol. Then another pair of fighters dropped bombs ahead of the leading formation of tanks. Too far forward – what was that? There was an orange streak that appeared on the screen. The hologram was glitching-

No. that was fire. The Russians had dropped a line of napalm cutting off his men's retreat. Becerra said nothing as the enemy helicopters swooped in and raked the exposed tanks and infantry with cannon and rocket fire. The Russian tanks surged forward into the breach, using their own napalm weapons with catastrophic results.

The Americans gave what they could but it wasn't enough. Only a single squadron of Russian tanks was damaged. The rest surged forward to take the Ghost's position.

0210 – Kamatchka combat Space

"_Shit!"_ Beasely slammed a fist onto the tactical display as the Russian's dropped their line of Napalm. It caught the lead tank right across and was so hot, it burned right through the armor. The crew bailed out quickly into the exposed environment of fire, smoke and bullets. His troops were tired, Beasely could tell by the way the Schwartzkopfs and Fastbacks milled in confusion for a moment which was enough for the Russian helicopters to come in a flock of a dozen and explode six of the vehicles.

The remainder of Adder and Cobra were giving a good account of themselves but soon succumbed to a combination of cannon and missile fire from the ground and the air. Both units spun out and exploded, showering the exposed infantry with hot steel fragments.

Beasely's entire center had collapsed. How long until Banshee-

"_Fire in the hole!" _ Beasely looked over to the warehouse and saw it engulfed in flame on a Ghost's helmet camera. Okay. That was it. He swooped over to Ninja for a moment, they weren't getting anywhere. They were still half a mile from their objective and the street battle had turned into a nightmare.

"Air support?" He asked one last time.

"Entering the battlespace now. Reinforcements are touching down on your signal sir." The officer responded. Beasely looked toward the Russian's end of the deployment. The AWACs had picked up and immediately tagged Zhukov portable Howitzers lining up and raising their double barreled cannons up into the sky, around them swarmed tanks and IFVs . They were a river of men and machines, unstoppable. There were just too many of them.

Was this battle still winnable? As if to answer, the audio cut in with a scream from Banshee's platoon lieutenant who was caught out in the open when the Russians opened up on them.

"Pull back." Beasely shook his head. "Signal retreat. I want fighters to clear the air and hit their artillery pieces and forward units. Destroy whatever resources the Russians can get their hands on."

All the officers in the command vehicle turned and looked at Beasely as one. Beasely clenched both fists that were lying on the table.

"_Now!"_

They were pulling out all the stops for this. Pierrera only had a single Joint Strike Munition left in addition to three hundred cannon rounds, barely enough for a four second burst. But he was refit and refueled and he could offer some sort of help to the second wave of fighters that had just entered the battlespace. They closed on all sides, except from the North where most of the interceptors had already peeled off to engage incoming enemy air support.

"_Striker Lead, head to the NAV point on your HUD at zero nine zero and join the escorts there. You'll be taking in Windwalker. How copy?"_

"WILCO." Pierrera responded simply and saw the HUD flash yellow for his NAV point twenty miles away. In three minutes he was there and slotted behind a single B-2 Spirit escorted by another four fighters.

"_Diamondback?"_ Hulk's voice came over the crosscom. _"Its hard to keep up with you."_

"I thought I lost you Hulk." Pierrera turned and saw the familiar outline of the F-19 Bobcat. "Good of you to be here, how much do you have?"

"_Got a Quarrel. No guns." _

A single long range missile might still be useful here.

"Keep your eyes peeled."

"_All the time lead."_

There were oddly no SAMs reaching up at them now, despite the fact that they were deep behind enemy lines and aiming for the enemy artillery positions. It was a natural choke point over there, the entrance to the base was only wide enough for four vehicles to cross side by side safely. And the Russians had many of those tanks coming into play. The Artillery was safely out of the way but it wouldn't save them.

"_Time on target, forty five seconds_." Windwalker said without any sort of emotion. Pierrera kept his eyes on the sky, scanning for the telltale flash that would be a Russian Mig-50 stealth fighter angling on the tempting target of a B-2.

The smooth black frame of the Spirit looked like a wide wing, almost a boomerang or a kite. There was no tail and next to no heat emissions so it would be invisible to both radar and infrared detection. Even so, it could be spotted visually. A line of tracers reached out for them and although they passed short, they were close enough that the pilots of the B-2 took notice. They immediately sped up. It would be harder for them to aim their payload and judge the fall now, Pierrera could only hope-

The B-2's bottom hatches opened and disgorged its payload of 80 MK-82 unguided bombs. A line of fireballs cut across the northern entrance of the Russian shipyards below, engulfing it in bright flames and turning the ground into the image of an erupting volcano.

"Did we get them?" Pierrera couldn't see if they hit the Artillery pieces and then some.

"_Who cares?"_ Hulk asked. "_Let's boogie!"_

"WILCO." Pierrera and the other planes turned south and went to the sluggish Stealth Bomber's fastest speed, running away and leaving the furious enemy in their wake.


	39. Chapter 38

0230 Kamatchka combat space

The sounds of furious rotors whipping the air into a howling gale woke Goff up. It was like a hammer going against her skull but she forced her eyes open as the last thing she remembered was being stuck against the wall in the middle of a firefight-

"Easy Captain!" A Navy medical corpseman forced her back down against the gurney. "You're going to be okay!"

"What's going on?" She said although it felt as if her mouth was full of fuzzy gauze. Her lips buzzed with irritation. Her eyes flicked to the left where a Goshawk had touched down and Ghosts were dashing into the hold, some with stretchers, others with their arms in slings. Some of them had weapons.

"Nothing for you to worry about!" the corpseman said and gestured off of Goff's vision. "I need forty ccs of betamine to reduce the swelling _now_!"

"Is that wise for a head trauma-" another voice, a woman's interjected. There was the muted boom of thunder and the night sky lit up with orange light.

"It'll reduce her heartrate and force the pressure in her fluids to go down. _Get it!"_

"My platoon!" Goff found control of her voice and managed that. She moved her arms to find them limp and attatched to IV's. She struggled as pairs of hands forced her to lie.

"Not anymore ma'am!" The Corpseman said. And that was when Goff realized that all the chaotic movement around her was troops being loaded back into goshawks and Valkyries. It was a retreat.

She had failed.

"First perimeter is disengaging now Colonel." The radio officer reported what Beasely could clearly see on the display, the tanks and IFVs were falling back, backtracking frantically on treads and tough tires amid cannon fire and missiles that streaked out from the ever advancing Russians. "Second perimeter is standing to."

That was Beasely's reserve units that had just touched down, they were only riflemen with heavy antitank weapons. It wouldn't do much against the Russian vehicles which had notoriously thick armor, but it was enough to slow them down and load those vehicles up. An A-20 Razorback swooped in and hit the forward Russian columns with a quartet of clusterbombs, showering the 100 yard box with football sized grenades. Shit they were close, Beasely could feel the explosions reverberate through the hull and into his boots.

"_Warlord, Evil Eye, one of our Electronics birds is picking up uplink powerup signatures at positions Delta and Bravo."_

Beasely slid the display over so that he could see the two uplink sites go back online.

"Shut them down!" he told the crew.

"Sir! Bravo has its firewalls already reestablished, Delta is bringing theirs online now-"

"Focus attention to uplink Delta then. I want a full crash on that site."

"Yes sir!" the electronics warfare officer began furiously typing commands into his keyboard as he began the cyber duel with the technicians inside that uplink. Beasely slid back to the action and heard the muted roar of a pair of Valkyries making touchdown and lowering their ramps to load the limping armored contingent of Beasely's company.

"Second perimeter is engaging." Beasely watched as his outer perimeter platoons, dug in with hard cover, flash red as they began dueling with the tanks and helicopters that had just appeared.

"I need air cover-" he began but was cut off when two F-15s swooped in and fired off heat seeking missiles at the helicopters, forcing them to veer off and killing one. On the next pass, another gunship was brought down by cannon fire.

"I have them sir." The cyber warfare officer reported. "I can short out all their systems."

"Do it."

"Sir." The Lieutenant jabbed the ENTER key sending the electronic spike which would overload the computer mainframe in the satellite uplink and short out all of its systems, rendering it completely useless for the time being. It was a pity they only had the capacity to do that once.

"Check second perimeter. Units are being overrun." Beasely snapped his gaze back. There were just _too many Russians._ They swarmed down the streets, moving in well disciplined fireteams and tanks, using the most of the available cover which cluttered the entire battlespace like carelessly strewn trash.

The Russians were an excellent and veteran force, not unlike his Joint Strike Force. In an even match, Beasely would have been hard pressed to fight them, with those numbers however a fight was impossible. Even resistance was faltering. Beasely was throwing all of his close air support into the frontal wave of Russians , harassing them with bombs and cannon fire but it didn't stop those Spetsnaz infantry from weaving between the buildings to clear the houses in room by room action. It didn't stop that advance one bit.

"That's it sir. Last of our first wave is away!" another officer shouted. "All units are medivaced."

"signal for our pickup." Beasely ordered and let out a deep breath. The air inside the command vehicle was stale, and smelled of sweat. The air conditioning must not have been functioning any longer. "This battle is over."

"Our second perimeter sir!" another officer called. "We don't leave men behind."

"We _can't _get them." Beasely couldn't look at the officer who said that. He didn't know if he'd be able to look his officers in the face again. "We lost."

* * *

><p>1400 – Washington DC<p>

Becerra didn't say anything. Dominique had mysteriously disappeared. He gestured with his hand and the motion sensor computers registered the command and shut down the display. The silence was heavy enough to put a fork through it. Becerra toyed with his for a moment and then slammed it point first into the oak table so that it quivered and echoed throughout the room. He was breathing heavily. His nostrils flared and his eyes became the cold yet passionate eyes that he had worn in the Marine Corp. This was _America_. They didn't leave men behind; yet there it was.

A good president, a good marine, would have called his Chiefs of staff in for a meeting right away about the current situation. But Becerra realized that being a good president and a good marine were totally different things. A good president would call the meeting, a good _marine_ would have stood and fought. His old unit motto didn't even bring a smile to his face.

"Retreat? Hell, we just got here!" he whispered to himself.

Becerra wiped his eyes and took a deep breath, then strode toward the situation room to hold that meeting with the Chiefs of staff like a good president.

It felt like retreating.


	40. Chapter 39

1000 – Tokyo

Swedo's vision swam. It blurred as though looking through foggy glass. He remembered that kind of vision, he wore glasses in a lost age before. He was drowning in something almost unbearably soft. He had been so used to the feeling of dirt, gravel and stone across his body, the snap of the wind like whiplashes as bullets shrieked around him, that this – whatever it was – was something so foreign, alien, that Swedo immediately didn't like it. He made his fingers flex sluggishly, they buzzed and tingled. He recognized the feeling of coming off of painkillers.

"Doctor…some…-ical activity…" the voice was hollow and loud, booming but was soft. Then his vision immediately cleared and was subject to a harsh light that tore through Swedo's haze.

"Lieutenant." A man's voice said this time. Swedo knew it was a man. He also remembered that he was a lieutenant, part of the 75th Rangers light infantry division. He was in a street in Pusan. A cratered hole that he had manned to stop the flow of Chinese and North Koreans at the tail end of the country. The captain – what was his name? – had ordered them all to fall back, they were evacuating. Swedo had disobeyed. He'd abandoned his platoon, his team, _his friends_ to stay and fight.

"Lieutenant." The voice repeated this time sounding sharper to his ears.

"Fuck. Yes." Swedo's mouth and tongue remembered how to form those words. "How long?"

"Were you out? Three days." The voice said. Swedo still couldn't see through the harsh light. "They flew you in from Osaka. You're in Tokyo now. You're in good hands."

"Fuck. What happened?" Swedo moved his hand forward to shut out the light but another hand firmly moved that back in place. Three days ago Swedo would have broken that arm and shot the man who owned it.

"You were knocked out, slight swelling in the brain due to shell fall and head trauma. Psychological stress and chemical imbalances were disrupting your basic vital functions including lung control and heart rate. You were on the ropes there for quite a bit."

"A fight."

"Yes. Quite. Its good to see you've recovered Lieutenant Swedo. I hope you don't mind that we took the liberty to shave your beard and hair. Your hair was removed to accommodate the electrode scanners, your beard was nonregulation."

"My eyes hurt. Cant see."

"Side effect of a medication. Your eyes will be extremely sensitive to light for quite some time but it should clear up after two or three weeks."

"My men?"

"They will be notified once you are up. And congratulations."

"For?"

"I think your Captain has put you in for a medal."

Swedo didn't hear anything else the doctor said. He was being put in for a medal. For what? For heroism? Swedo had been scared the whole time. He was angry. He loved death. Loved it so much he had almost begun to kill himself, putting himself on the line like that. That was suicide on a mass scale. He was being awarded a medal. Swedo drowned in the softness again. The light swallowed him.

* * *

><p>1000<p>

Tokyo Forward Operating Base

"You navy pilots are alright." Rogue Leader was a Captain called Cotugno. A jovial looking lanky man who didn't shirk from his third pint that morning. "You handled yourselves well."

"We aren't nuggets." Pierrera shrugged and took a sip. "Its our job."

"I know the jitters." Cotugno said "everyone gets them. that isn't part of our job though."

"You air force guys don't know what flying really is." Pierrera scoffed. Naval aviators had always held themselves to be the Air Forces superiors. Nobody in the air force could land their supersonic fighter on a moving deck in the middle of night while aiming at one of 4 arrestor cables that were not even a foot wide.

"You liked my advice when I gave it to you back there." Cotugno sipped his pint. Pierrera didn't like the brew in Japan. It didn't have anything on a good British beer. His own pint sat there, untouched other than the occasional swirl to keep Pierrera's hands from shaking.

"You have more experience than me."

"So I'm better." Cotugno shrugged and finished it off.

"I didn't say that." Pierrera looked back in time. Things were so much clearer up in the air. There were orders. He completed them. Why was he nervous at all about it? It wasn't up to Pierrera to make those orders, just to follow them.

"Care to keep a score card?" Cotugno said, flashing a 4x7 sheet of paper. "prove that you're better."

"I don't need to keep something around so I can walk around like I'm king of the world." Pierrera shook his head. "It's stupid."

"Suit yourself. But when are you gonna be king of something?" Cotugno signaled for another drink

Pierrera nursed his beer a little more and thought about that and shot a glance at the score card Cotugno had. It was dotted with red stars, the number of kills seemed to be in the dozens. Unheard of. And Cotugno seemed supremely confident of his skills. Why couldn't Pierrera be like that? What was wrong with a confidence booster.

"Got another one of those cards?" Pierrera asked as casually as he could. Cotugno took a paper beer coaster and slid it over to answer. Pierrera took it and patted his pockets for a pen. He found one but it was out of ink. He jabbed his thumb onto the point, opening a small wound and pressed his kills onto the card. He looked at the kills and then slid it back into his pocket. Cotugno hadn't even looked over.

When Pierrera drained the glass, his hands stopped shaking.

* * *

><p>1000 – Kongwong Bo mountain range<p>

"Sir." Sullivan shook his head. "They couldn't find Park. Or Long."

Witt was leaning against a tree, bandages were noosed tightly around his torso, he'd broken three ribs and punctured a lung in the process, it was only the creative genius of the camp medical workers (two were former surgeons) and swift operation that had saved him. _Juche_ was back in action. It would have to be, Witt wasn't in any position to lead them any longer.

Cho seemed to enjoy the responsibilities of command once again and was happily and sternly bustling around the camp between the tents. It seemed he never had a restful moment. He was totally devoted to his people and apparently, word was getting around that he was a great leader. People were rallying to him.

Tell them to look harder. Witt should have said that. But something, whether it was his medical condition or his lack of interest in finding a dead Ghost, held him back. Witt hoped it was the former.

"They're probably dead anyway." Sullivan shook his head again during the silence punctuated only by the sound of rifle practice in the other corner of the camp. The children were playing today, school was finished for them. It was important that Witt had set up a school, some to keep the camp busy but most importantly it was so they all could learn the basics of any civilized society: reading, writing, language. He was helping build a nation and an entire people from the ground up, and it started with those kids. He saw a gang of them wave their sticks as swords and a young mother swooped in on them and lifted her howling child up to nurse a splinter.

Witt half expected her head to evaporate from the impact of a .50 slug. He blinked and heard the mother coo in Korean.

The child wouldn't stop crying and so she began singing. Witt didn't understand the words, but they were soft and immediately he began to think of happier times. He closed his eyes and simply relaxed to the foreign ululating tongue. When she stopped he was left feeling empty, and the world was quiet.

"Where's the next attack going to be?" Witt said to fill the gap.

"Close by I think. The Russians are coming in country and if our resistance didn't like the Chinese, they sure as _hell_ don't like the Russians." Sullivan grinned. "I think the convoy is coming by now in fact-"

In the distance a single rifle crack echoed through the mountains. To many, it was the sound of people fighting for their homes and livelihood, everything that made these people _Korean._ To Witt, it almost sounded like the booming note of a Chey-tach Intervention.

* * *

><p>1000 Vladivostok, army hospital.<p>

Things were extremely ugly. Doctor Rominov shook her head at the wounds this one had suffered as she strode to her post this shift. Corporal Ivana Melatvana had suffered major head trauma as well as punishing blows to the ribs and limbs that would have left many of the other girls in the hospital wing dead or dying. Melatvana was dying when Rominov took her in. Her uniform was too big for her frame, it seemed that the axiom of Logistics clothing either being too big or too small was true here. Had she been starving herself? Perhaps. It had been a long time since Melatvana had food. Rominov made some more notes on her PDA to inject a stronger batch of steroids to supplement the loss of nutrition as she took her first steps into the hospital wing during the night shift.

A shadow moved behind the patient curtains, catching Rominov's eye.

"Comrade corporal! You should not be up at this time!" Rominov said and strode briskly over to correct that mistake.

"I am getting dressed Comrade doctor." The voice that came back appeared to be strong, much stronger than Rominov initially expected. For all her wounds and weaknesses the girl seemed hardier than ever. The curtain's came apart, Melatvana was dressed in a nurse's scrubs and was tying the face mask around her mouth.

"What is this?" Rominov demanded. Melatvana finished tying the mask before reaching for the IV needle that lay unused at the edge of the bed and tore it off the drip. Rominov looked at the deliberate vandalism for just long enough to realize what had happened and for Melatvana to leap over the bed and jab the needle into her neck.

Rominov gasped and immediately felt the blood flood from her. She'd hit the carotid artery. Surgical precision from a corporal….no…damn…her….

Agent Kirsten Blanco left the needle there and held her side. That leap had taken more out of her than she thought. She was hurt badly. She was compromised. Her only thought now was escape. She strode to the end of the room to the cupboards where she searched for – there. Morphine and Belatophine, two steroids she was used to seeing. Her mother was a nurse. She grabbed a syringe and needle as well, pocketing them in the nurse's uniform as she strode briskly out of the hospital wing and made it with no further incident out the door, she even punched her time card out.

Blanco faded into the brisk morning and melded into the faceless population of Russia's people.

* * *

><p>2100 – Washington D.C.<p>

"Speed…Marker…Roll camera."

Becerra took a deep breath and put on the well practiced stern face to hide what really was going on. Like a good president.

"My fellow Americans, I am pleased to report that our forces have finished their reclaiming of Iceland and are preparing for our invasion of the European Federation, along with our allies in the New Commonwealth of the United Kingdom. This has been a tremendous success for our brave forces, of which 500,000 troops of the Joint Strike Force, US Navy and Commonwealth, Naval, Air and Marine Forces who bravely struck against the Federation troops which consisted of veteran paratroopers. Casualties have been light and have gone better than expected in this area, our invasion of European soil will occur within a few short months.

Strategically, we are at a peak. Our forces have an unstoppable momentum which will allow for a swift and decisive victory in this war.

Our commitment to retaliating against the Federation has not left us forgetting about our allies however. In the Korean theater, despite strategically numerical odds, our brave soldiers have held the battlefield against the Korean People's Army and the People's Liberation Army of China. The Korean people in the north are forming resistance groups to help combat the malicious forces of the communist regimes and our operations there, are successful.

Tonight, I am also here to announce the grave news of an unprovoked attack by the Russian Federation in which our forces in South Korea were subject to intensive artillery and air attacks by the 44th Spetsnaz Guard Brigade which is now operating in the Korean theater in retaliation to the Chinese attacks. Our retaliation has been swift. Our forces have struck naval bases all along the Kamatchka Penninsula neutralizing the effective strength of the Russian Pacific Fleet by at least half. This second unprovoked attack by a world power will not go unnoticed by the American people.

Russian forces have swept into the Korean peninsula without any respect for the basic rules of warfare and have indiscriminantly fired on both Chinese and American troops as well as noncombatants. I unfortunately have to report that the number of Russian troops in that area will overwhelm our forces. The Korean Penninsula is being evacuated of every Korean citizen as we speak.

By the weeks end, I will be asking Congress for a further expansion of our armed forces and elevated troop strengths in Japan, which will be serving as our staging point for the war against the Russians. I am personally calling any available American who cannot stand for the injustice of losing ones home to a vile invader. In addition I am calling Americans who do not fight, to save for the hard times ahead. War is not pleasant, and the sacrifices our sons and daughters will be making should only be respected by the sacrifices we make at home. Every American is now a soldier. Whether you fight on the front lines, wash dishes at home or take the bus to work, we are part of this war.

Our allies are our brothers, they are as much a part of the war as we are. And so I will also be asking Congress to reinstate the Refugee act of 1963 by week's end to welcome the Korean people who have lost everything they've had. Their suffering should not continue when they reach our soil.

To the Korean Americans here, I can offer no excuse for the actions that leave your homeland in the hands of foreigners. I can only ask that you keep the Korean people in your prayers, and to keep the American people in your prayers as well.

We, here, are all Americans united under one flag of freedom, liberty and justice. Every man and woman in this great nation are brothers and sisters, uncles, aunts, cousins. And every person who dreams of a life of freedom, liberty and justice are our brethren too. We will stand by them in their hour of need, and I will not forget the Korean people. We will be victorious there."

"…and cut. Thank you Mr. President."


End file.
